LIBRARY 

OF    THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 
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THE 


NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER 


SCHOOL    AND    COLLEGE 


A  COLLECTION  OF  EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  SPEECHES  OF 
HENRY  CABOT  LODGE,  CHAUNCEY  M.  DEPEW,  CHARLES 
H.  PARKHURST,  HENRY  W.  GRADY,  JAMES  G.  ELAINE, 
JAMES  A.  GARFIELD,  HENRY  WARD  BEECHER,  WILLIAM  H. 
SEWARD,  WENDELL  PHILLIPS,  GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS, 
AND  OTHERS;  SELECTED  AND  ADAPTED  FOR  USE  IN  DEC- 
LAMATION, AND  IN  THE  STUDY  OF  AMERICAN  ORATORY 
IN  THE  LATTER  PART  OF  THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY 


HENRY    ALLYN    FRINK,    PH.D. 

Professor  of  Logic,  Rhetoric  and  Public  Speaking  in  A  nth  erst  College 

and  formerly  Professor  of  English  Literature  and 

Oratory  in  Hamilton  College. 


BOSTON,  U.S.A. 
GINN   &   COMPANY,   PUBLISHERS 

athenaeum 

1898 


COPYRIGHT,  1898,  BY 
HENRY  ALLYN   FRINK 


ALL   RIGHTS    RESERVED 


fll 


ACKNOWLEDGMENTS. 


EXTRACTS  are  published  from"The  Works  of  James  A.Garfield," 
from  James  G.  Elaine's  "  Political  Discussions,"  from  "  The  Works 
of  William  H.  Seward,"  from  "  Speeches  and  Addresses  of  Wen- 
dell Phillips,"  from  Henry  Ward  Beecher's  "  Patriotic  Addresses," 
from  Benjamin  F.  Taylor's  "Mission  Ridge  and  Lookout  Moun- 
tain," from  Thomas  Hughes'  "Tom  Brown  at  Oxford,"  from 
Edwin  A.  Grosvenor's  translation  of  "  Andronike,"  from  Lew 
Wallace's  «  Ben  Hur,"  from  Charles  H.  Parkhurst's  "  Our  Fight 
with  Tammany,"  from  various  speeches  and  addresses  of  Henry 
Cabot  Lodge,  from  "  Orations  of  Chauncey  M.  Depew,"  and  from 
ff  Speeches  of  Henry  W.  Grady,"  through  the  kindness  of  Mrs. 
James  A.  Garfield,  Mrs.  James  G.  Blaine,  Messrs.  Houghton, 
Mifflin  &  Co.,  Messrs.  Lee  £  Shepard,  Messrs.  Fords,  Howard 
&  Hulbert,  Mefcsrs.  D.  Appleton  &  Co.,  Messrs.  Macmillan  &  Co., 
Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers,  Messrs.  Harper  &  Brothers,  Messrs, 
Charles  Scribner's  Sons,  the  Hon.  Henry  Cabot  Lodge,  and 
Messrs.  Cassell  £  Co.,  respectively.  There  is  also  especial 
acknowledgment  of  the  kindness  of  Mr.  Charles  Dudley  Warner. 


96600 


PREFACE. 


MANY  of  the  selections  contained  in  this  volume  have  in 
manuscript  form  been  in  popular  use  for  several  years  in 
Amherst  College.  In  compliance  with  numerous  sugges- 
tions and  requests,  these  declamations  with  a  few  additional 
and  more  familiar  extracts  are  now  given  to  the  public  as 
The  New  Century  Speaker. 

The  title  of  the  collection  is  not  wholly  without  significance. 
The  new  century  will  undoubtedly  have,  sooner  or  later,  in 
our  country  as  elsewhere,  its  own  style  of  public  speaking. 
The  history  of  oratory  shows,  however,  that  it  has  been,  like 
every  other  art,  subject  to  the  law  of  evolution.  Its  changes, 
as  a  rule,  have  not  been  sudden  transitions,  but  a  matter  of 
growth.  It  is,  therefore,  reasonable  to  expect  that  American 
oratory  will  for  a  score  or  two  of  years  be  largely  determined 
in  its  characteristics  by  what  has  been  peculiar  to  our  most 
effective  forms  of  public  speech  in  the  last  half  of  the  pres- 
ent century. 

A  few  of  the  extracts  in  this  volume  are  from  speeches 
delivered  before  the  Civil  War,  but  they  will  be  found  to 
have  most  noticeably  the  spirit  and  style  which  mark  our 
public  speakingt  to-day.  The  selections  in  general,  however, 
are  of  comparatively  recent  date,  and  have  to  do  with  sub- 
jects not  only  of  present  moment  but  of  future  interest. 
Most  of  the  declamations,  as  has  been  implied,  have  been 
tested  in  our  rhetorical  exercises,  and  have  proved  to  be  a 
helpful  means  of  cultivating  a  direct,  vigorous,  and  attractive 
style  of  public  speaking. 


VI  PREFACE. 

It  will  be  observed  that  Part  I  has  a  number  of  selections 
which  may  be  termed  "  drill  pieces."  Concrete  and  objec- 
tive in  theme  and  treatment,  they  serve  an  important  end  in 
helping  to  develop  power.  In  most  students  the  ability  to 
gain  and  hold  the  attention  of  an  audience  —  much  more  to 
persuade  and  to  convince,  which  is  the  especial  object  of 
public  speech  —  is  at  first  largely  latent.  One  of  the  earliest 
efforts  in  wise  training  should  be,  therefore,  to  aid  the  stu- 
dent in  the  recognition  and  development  of  his  resources. 
There  is  no  more  direct  means  to  this  end  than  a  helpful 
selection.  Most  often,  until  there  has  been  some  measure 
of  practice  and  training,  this  will  not  be  one  abstract  in 
thought  and  unimpassioned  in  style.  It  will  be  a  declama- 
tion of  striking  incident,  varied  description,  earnest  interro- 
gation, and  spirited  action,  in  which  the  speaker  may  easily 
lose  self-consciousness  and  become  earnestly  interested  in 
what  he  is  speaking.  Frequent  rehearsals  of  a  selection 
which  has  the  elements  that  take  hold  of  the  student's  im- 
agination and  sympathies  will  in  a  surprisingly  short  time 
develop  voice,  feeling,  energy,  and  freedom  of  action.  But 
power  once  gained  can  with  right  training  be  turned  in  any 
direction.  Hence,  when  the  speaker  has  in  this  way  come 
to  know  something  of  his  resources,  and  has  learned  in  a 
degree  how  to  use  them  with  skill  and  good  taste,  he  will 
begin  to  be  prepared  to  give  effectively  the  extracts  in  Part  II, 
and  also  those  in  Part  I  which  relate  to  public  affairs,  social 
interests,  and  historic  characters. 

What  is  to  be  the  goal  of  the  declaimer  who  is  preparing 
for  professional  or  public  life  or  for  the  ordinary  duties  of 
citizenship,  is  indicated  by  the  general  character  of  this  vol- 
ume. It  is  to  acquire,  as  far  as  possible,  the  elements  of 
power  which  have  made  so  many  of  the  speeches  and  ad- 
dresses here  represented  a  commanding  influence  in  our 
national  and  civic  life.  So  that,  while  The  New  Century 


PREFACE.  Vll 

Speaker  is  valuable  in  its  unusual  number,  variety,  and  fresh- 
ness of  "  drill  pieces/'  it  has  peculiar  worth  in  presenting  in 
available  form  for  declamation  the  most  representative  col- 
lection of  extracts  from  our  later  eloquence  that  has  been 
published. 

In  compiling  these  extracts,  the  order  of  sentence  or 
paragraph  has  been  changed,  and  the  expression  has  been 
condensed,  when  occasionally  in  the  abridged  form  it  would 
help  to  retain  the  full  force  of  the  argument  or  reproduce 
more  of  the  peculiar  features  of  the  original  presentation  of 
the  subject.  The  result  is  that  in  Part  II,  where  the  orator 
is  represented  by  a  number  of  selections,  the  extracts  so 
fully  indicate  his  scope,  method,  and  characteristics  that  the 
book  will  prove  most  useful  in  the  study  of  American  oratory 
in  the  latter  part  of  the  nineteenth  century. 

Not  many  of  the  declamations  will  require  for  delivery 
more  than  five  minutes,  and  the  others,  when  not  used  in 
competitive  or  public  exercises,  can,  by  the  omission  of  a 
paragraph  or  two,  be  brought  readily  within  the  same  time. 

HENRY  ALLYN  FRINK. 
AMHERST  COLLEGE,  1898. 


CONTENTS. 


PART  I. 

PAGE 

Boat  Race,  The .  Thomas  Hughes  ....  i 

Capture  of  Lookout  Mountain,  The  .  Benjamin  F.  Taylor      .     .  4 

Career  of  Gordon,  The Frederick  J.  Swift    ...  6 

Catherine  de  Medicis William  M.  Punshon   .     .  8 

Confederate  Sergeant,  The   ....  Adapted      .          ....  10 

Convict's  Death,  The Charles  Dickens  ....  12 

Culture  in  Emergencies Adapted 14 

Destruction  of  Jerusalem,  The       .     .  Frank  D.  Budlong  ...  16 
Doom  of  Claudius  and  Cynthia,  The  (Abridged) 

Maurice  Thompson  ...  19 

Eulogy  on  Henry  Ward  Beecher    .     .  Joseph  Parker,  D.D.     .     .  21 

Fort  Wagner Anna  E.  Dickinson       .     .  24 

General's  Client,  The Adapted 27 

Greatness  of  Obedience,  The     .     .     .  Frederic  W.  Farrar      .     .  29 

Guiteau  the  Assassin John  K.  Porter    ....  31 

Heroism  of  Horatio  Nelson,  The  .     .  Frank  V,  Mills    ....  33 

Historic  Codfish,  The Richard  W.  Irwin   ...  35 

Homes  of  the  People Parke  Godwin      ....  39 

Jean  Valjean's  Sacrifice Victor  Hugo 41 

John  Brown  of  Osawatomie       .     :     .     Anonymous 45 

John  A.  Logan George  R.  Peck     ....  47 

Knights  of  Labor T.  V.  Powderly    ....  49 

Last  Night  of  Misolonghi,  The      .     .  Edwin  A.  Grosvenor     .     .  52 

Law  and  Humanity Raymond  A7".  Kellogg    .     .  56 

"  Little  David "  of  Nations,  The    .     .  William  C.  Duncan      .     .  58 

Macaulay William  M.  Punshon  .     .  61 

Man  for  the  Crisis,  The Adapted 63 

Mission  of  Thomas  Hood,  The      .     .     Adapted 67 

Moral  Courage Frederic  W.  Farrar      .     .  69 

Napoleon's  Ambition  and  Shelley's  Doubt 

William  De  Shon     ...  71 


X  .  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Negro  in  American  History,  The  .  .  Frank  F.  Laird  ....  74 

New  Englander  in  History,  The  .  .  //.  L.  Wayland  ....  76 
Opening  of  the  Mississippi  in  1862,  The 

William  E.  Lewis  ...  78 

Orator's  Cause,  The John  D.  Wright  ....  80 

Pathos  of  Thackeray  and  Dickens,  The 

Jit  lien  M.  Elliott  ...  82 

Poetry  the  Language  of  Symbolism  .  Frederick  W.  Robertson  .  85 

Plea  for  Enthusiasm,  A Anonymotis 87 

Race,  The Lew  Wallace 89 

Realism  of  Dickens,  The  ....  William  A.  Lathrop  .  .  92 

Relief  of  Lucknow,  The Adapted 94 

Rescue,  The '.  Benjamin  F.  Taylor  .  .  97 

Review  of  the  Grand  Army,  The  .  .  Adapted 98 

Rights  and  Duties Frederick  W.  Robertson  .  100 

Russia  the  Enigma  of  Europe  .  .  .  Gilbert  H.  Grosvenor  .  .  102 

Savonarola William  M.  Punshon  .  .  104 

Shakespeare's  Mark  Antony  .  .  .  Walter  B.  Wine  hell  .  .  106 

Signal  Man,  The Charles  Dickens  ....  109 

Signing  of  the  Declaration,  The  .  .  George  Lippard  .  .  .  .  1 1 1 

Sir  Walter  Scott  in  Westminster  .  .  John  Hay 114 

Slave  of  Boston,  The Theodore  Parker  .  .  .  115 

Spirit  of  Conquest,  The  .  .  .  :  .  Thomas  Corwin  .  .  .  .  117 

Storming  of  Mission  Ridge,  The  .  .  Benjamin  F.  Taylor  .  .  119 

Sunday  Newspaper,  The Herrick  Johnson,  D.D.  .  122 

Sun  of  Liberty,  The Victor  Hiigo 124 

Sydney  Carton's  Death Charles  Dickens  .  .  .  .  126 

Traitor's  Deathbed,  The George  Lippard  .  ...  128 

Two  of  Dickens'  Villains  ....  Jttlien  M.  Elliott  .  .  .  131 

Two  Queens Franklin  Addington  .  .  133 

Unconscious  Greatness  of  Stonewall  Jackson,  The 

Moses  D.  Hoge,  D.D.  .  .  135 

Unknown  Rider,  The George.  Lippard  ....  138 

Vengeance  of  the  Flag,  The  .  .  .  Henry  D.  Esterbrooke  .  .  140 

Vesuvius  and  the  Egyptian  ....  Edward  Buhvcr  Lytton  .  143 

Victor  of  Marengo,  The Anonymous 146 

Voyage  of  the  "  Fram,"  The  .  .  .  Arthur  P.  Hunt  ....  148 

War  and  Peace Frederick  W.  Robertson  .  1 50 

Waterloo /.  T.  Headlcy 152 

Wolfe  at  Quebec Frank  D.  Budlong  .  .  .  154 


CONTENTS.  XI 

PAGE 

PART    II. 

HENRY  CABOT  LODGE. 

"Old  Ironsides" 161 

A  Tribute  to  Massachusetts 164 

Cuba  and  Armenia 166 

The  Venezuela  Question 170 

The  Traditions  of  Massachusetts    .    „ 172 

The  Blue  and  the  Gray 175 

The  Great  Peril  of  Unrestricted  Immigration 177 

The  Puritan  of  Essex  County 179 

Americanism 181 

CHAUNCEY  M.  DEPEW. 

The  Capture  of  Andre 187 

Andre  and  Hale 190 

The  Army  of  the  Potomac 191 

The  Legacy  of  Grant 194 

The  Place  of  Athletics  in  College  Life 196 

/  .  The  Lawyer  and  Free  Institutions 198 

Home  Rule  for  Ireland 201 

The  Scholar  in  Public  Life 203 

CHARLES  H.  PARKHURST. 

The  Corruption  of  Municipal  Government 209 

A  Moral  Crisis 211 

Christian  Citizenship 213 

Piety  and  Civic  Virtue 215 

The  Pulpit  and  Politics 217 

HENRY  W.  GRADY. 

The  University  the  Training  Camp  of  the  Future      ....  223 

The  Southern  Negro 225 

Prohibition  in  Atlanta 227 

The  South  and  Her  Problems 230 

Centralization  in  the  United  States 232 

The  New  South 234 

JAMES  G.  ELAINE. 

The  Death  of  Garfield 241 

Chinese  Immigration 242 

The  Permanence  of  Grant's  Fame 244 

American  Shipbuilding       246 

The  Elements  of  National  Wealth 248 

The  Amnesty  of  Jefferson  Davis 249 


Xll  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

JAMES  A.  GARFIELD. 

General  Thomas  at  Chickamauga 251; 

An  Appeal  to  Young  Men 257 

Immortality  of  True  Patriotism 259 

Macaulay's  Prophecy 261 

Abraham  Lincoln 263 

The  Graves  of  Union  Soldiers  at  Arlington 265 

HENRY  WARD  BEECHER. 

Compromise  of  Principle 269 

Suppressed  Repudiation * 270 

Wendell  Phillips 272 

The  National  Flag 274 

Loss  of  the  "  Arctic  " 276 

The  North  and  the  African 278 

WILLIAM  II .  SEWARD. 

A  Plea  for  William  Freeman 283 

The  American  and  the  Corsican 285 

Daniel  O'Connell's  Epitaph 287 

Welcome  to  Louis  Kossuth -    .  290- 

Defense  of  Alleged  Conspirators  against  the  Michigan  Cen- 
tral Railroad  Company 291 

WENDELL  PHILLIPS. 

The  Scholar's  Distrust 297 

<*^fhe  Murder  of  Lovejoy 299 

Napoleon  Bonaparte  and  Toussaint  L'Ouverture      ....  301 

Toussaint  L'Ouverture's  Place  among  Great  Men      ....  303 

Daniel  O'Connell  the  Orator 306 

Daniel  O'Connell's  Power  over  the  Irish  People 309 

Idols 311 

William  Lloyd  Garrison 313 

Public  Opinion 315 

What  We  Owe  the  Pilgrims 317 

GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS. 

A  Rub-a-dub  Agitation 321 

Burgoyne's  Surrender 323 

Paul  Revere's  Ride 325 

The  Spirit  of  Puritanism 327 

The  Cause  of  Bunker  Hill 329 

Samuel  Adams  and  the  New  England  Town  Meeting    .     .     .  331 


THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 


THE  BOAT  RACE,  FROM  "TOM  BROWN  AT  OXFORD." 

THOMAS  HUGHES. 

THE  crew  had  just  finished  their  early  dinner.  Hark  ! 
the  first  gun  !  The  St.  Ambrose  crew  fingered  their  oars,  put 
a  last  dash  of  grease  on  their  rowlocks,  and  settled  their  feet 
against  the  stretchers.  "Shall  we  push  her  off?"  asked  "bow." 
"No,  I  can  give  you  another  minute,"  said  the  coxswain, 
who  was  sitting,  watch  in  hand,  in  the  stern ;  "  only  be 
smart  when  I  give  the  word.  Eight  seconds  more  only. 
Look  out  for  the  flash.  Remember,  all  eyes  in  the  boat." 

There  it  comes,  at  last  —  the  flash  of  the  starting  gun. 
Long  before  the  sound  of  the  report  can  roll  up  the  river 
the  whole  pent-up  life  and  energy  which  has  been  held  in 
leash,  as  it  were,  for  the  last  six  minutes  is  let  loose,  and 
breaks  away  with  a  bound  and  a  dash  which  he  who  has 
felt  it  will  remember  for  his  life,  but  the  like  of  which  will 
he  ever  feel  again  ?  The  starting  ropes  drop  from  the  cox- 
swain's hands,  the  oars  flash  into  the  water,  and  gleam  on 
the  feather,  the  spray  flies  from  them,  and  the  boats  leap 
forward. 

The  crowds  on  the  bank  scatter  and  rush  along,  each 
keeping  as  near  as  it  may  be  to  its  own  boat.  Some  of  the 
men  on  the  towing  path,  some  on  the  very  edge  of,  often  in, 
the  water  —  some  slightly  in  advance,  as  if  they  could  help 
to  drag  their  boat  forward  —  some  behind,  where  they  can 
see  the  pulling  better  —  but  all  at  full  speed,  in  wild  excite- 


2  THE    NEW.  CENTURY    SPEAKER. 

ment,  and  shouting  at  the  top  of  their  voices  to  those  on 
whom  the  honor  of  the  college  is  laid.  "  Well  pulled,  all !  " 
"  Pick  her  up  there,  five  !  "  "  You're  gaining,  every  stroke  !  " 
"  Time  in  the  bows !  "  "  Bravo,  St.  Ambrose  !  "  On  they 
rushed  by  the  side  of  the  boats,  jostling  one  another,  stum- 
bling, struggling,  and  panting  along. 

For  the  first  ten  strokes  Tom  Brown  was  in  too  great  fear 
of  making  a  mistake  to  feel  or  hear  or  see.  His  whole  soul 
was  glued  to  the  back  of  the  man  before  him,  his  one 
thought  to  keep  time,  and  get  his  strength  into  the  stroke. 
But  as  the  crew  settled  down  into  the  well-known  long 
sweep,  consciousness  returned.  While  every  muscle  in  his 
body  was  straining,  and  his  chest  heaved,  and  his  heart 
leaped,  every  nerve  seemed  to  be  gathering  new  life  and  his 
senses  to  wake  into  unwonted  acuteness.  He  caught  the 
scent  of  the  wild  thyme  in  the  air,  and  found  room  in  his 
brain  to  wonder  how  it  could  have  got  there,  as  he  had 
never  seen  the  plant  near  the  river  or  smelt  it  before. 
Though  his  eye  never  wandered  from  the  back  of  the  man 
in  front  of  him,  he  seemed  to  see  all  things  at  once ;  and 
amid  the  Babel  of  voices,  and  the  dash  and  pulse  of  the 
stroke,  and  the  laboring  of  his  own  breathing  he  heard  a 
voice  coming  to  him  again  and  again,  and  clear  as  if  there 
had  been  no  other  sound  in  the  air:  "  Steady,  two  !  steady ! 
well  pulled !  steady,  steady  !  " 

The  voice  seemed  to  give  him  strength  and  keep  him 
to  his  work.  And  what  work  it  was  !  he  had  had  many  a 
hard  pull  in  the  last  six  weeks,  but  "  never  aught  like  this." 
But  it  can't  last  forever  ;  men's  muscles  are  not  steel,  or 
their  lungs  bull's  hide,  and  hearts  can't  go  on  pumping 
a  hundred  miles  an  hour  long  without  bursting.  The 
St.  Ambrose's  boat  is  well  away  from  the  boat  behind. 
There  is  a  great  gap  between  the  accompanying  crowds. 
And  now,  as  they  near  the  Gut,  she  hangs  for  a  moment  or 


%  THE    BOAT    RACE.  3 

two  in  hand,  though  the  roar  from  the  banks  grows  louder 
and  louder,  and  Tom  is  already  aware  that  the  St.  Ambrose 
crowd  is  melting  into  the  one  ahead  of  them. 

"  We  must  be  close  to  Exeter  !  "  The  thought  flashes  into 
him  and  into  the  rest  of  the  crew  at  the  same  moment. 
For,  all  at  once,  the  strain  seems  taken  off  their  arms  again. 
There  is  no  more  drag.  She  springs  to  the  stroke  as  she 
did  at  the  start  ;  and  the  coxswain's  face,  which  had  dark- 
ened for  a  few  seconds,  lightens  up  again.  "You're  gain- 
ing !  you're  gaining!"  now  and  then  he  mutters  to  the 
captain,  who  responds  with  a  look,  keeping  his  breath  for 
other  matters.  Isn't  he  grand,  the  captain,  as  he  comes  for- 
ward like  lightning,  stroke  after  stroke,  his  back  flat,  his 
teeth  set,  his  whole  frame  working  from  the  hips  with  the 
steadiness  of  a  machine  ?  As  the  space  still  narrows,  the 
eyes  of  the  fiery  little  coxswain  flash  with  excitement. 

The  two  crowds  are  mingled  now,  and  no  mistake  ;  and 
the  shouts  come  all  in  a  heap  over  the  water.  "  Now,  St. 
Ambrose,  six  strokes  more  ! "  "  Now,  Exeter,  you  're  gaining  ; 
pick  her  up!"  ''Mind  the  Gut,  Exeter!"  "Bravo,  St. 
Ambrose ! "  The  water  rushes  by,  still  eddyingfrom  the  strokes 
of  the  boat  ahead.  Tom  fancies  now  he  can  hear  the  voice 
of  their  coxswain.  In  another  moment  both  boats  are  in  the 
Gut,  and  a  storm  of  shouts  reaches  them  from  the  crowd. 
"  Well  steered,  well  steered,  St.  Ambrose  ! "  is  the  cry. 
Then  the  coxswain,  motionless  as  a  statue  till  now,  lifts  his 
right  hand  and  whirls  the  tassel  round  his  head  :  "  Give 
it  her  now,  boys  ;  six  strokes  and  we  are  into  them!" 

And  while  a  mighty  sound  of  shouts,  murmurs,  and  music 
went  up  into  the  evening  sky,  the  coxswain  shook  the  tiller 
ropes  again,  the  captain  shouted,  "  Now,  then,  pick  her  up  !" 
and  the  St.  Ambrose  boat  shot  up  between  the  swarming 
banks  at  racing  pace  to  her  landing-place,  the  lion  of  the 
evening. 


4  THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

THE  CAPTURE  OF  LOOKOUT  MOUNTAIN. 

BENJAMIN  F.  TAYLOR. 

IT  was  a  formidable  business  Hooker  and  his  brigades 
had  in  hand:  they  were  to  carry  a  mountain  and  scale  a 
precipice  near  two  thousand  feet  high,  in  the  teeth  of  a 
battery  and  the  face  of  two  intrenched  brigades.  Climbing 
Signal  Hill,  I  could  see  volumes  of  smoke  rolling  to  and 
fro,  like  clouds  from  a  boiling  cauldron.  The  mad  surges 
of  tumult  lashed  the  hill  till  they  cried  aloud,  and  roared 
through  the  gorges  till  you  might  have  fancied  all  the 
thunders  of  a  long  summer  tumbled  into  that  valley  together. 
And  yet  the  battle  was  unseen.  It  was  like  hearing  voices 
from  the  under-world. 

The  bugles  of  this  city  of  camps  were  sounding  high 
noon  when,  in  two  parallel  columns,  the  troops  moved  up 
the  mountain,  in  the  rear  of  the  enemy's  rifle-pits,  which 
they  swept  at  every  fire.  Ah,  I  wish  you  had  been  here. 
It  needed  no  glass  to  see  it ;  it  was  only  just  beyond  your 
hand.  And  there,  in  the  center  of  the  columns,  fluttered 
the  blessed  flag.  ""My  God!  what  flag  is  that?"  men 
cried.  And  up  steadily  it  moved.  We  could  think  of 
nothing  but  a  gallant  ship-of-the-line  grandly  lifting  upon 
the  great  billows  and  riding  out  the  storm.  It  was  a  scene 
never  to  fade  out.  Pride  and  pain  struggled  for  the  mastery, 
but  faith  carried  the  day.  We  believed  in  the  flag  and  took 
courage.  Volleys  of  musketry  and  crashes  of  cannon,  and 
then  those  lulls  in  a  battle  even  more  terrible  than  the 
tempest. 

Night  was  closing  rapidly  in,  and  the  scene  was  growing 
sublime.  The  battery  at  Moccasin  Point  was  sweeping  the 
road  to  the  mountain.  The  brave  little  fort  at  its  left  was 
playing  like  a  heart  in  a  fever.  The  cannon  upon  the  top 


THE    CAPTURE    OF    LOOKOUT    MOUNTAIN.  5 

of  Lookout  were  pounding  away  at  their  lowest  depression. 
The  flash  of  the  guns  fairly  burned  through  the  clouds  ;  there 
was  an  instant  of  silence,  here,  there,  yonder,  and  the 
tardy  thunder  leaped  out  after  the  swift  light.  For  the  first 
time,  perhaps,  since  that  mountain  began  to  burn  beneath 
the  gold  and  crimson  sandals  of  the  sun  it  was  in  eclipse. 
The  clouds  of  the  summit  and  the  smoke  of  the  battle  had 
met  halfway  and  mingled.  Here  was  Chattanooga,  but 
Lookout  had  vanished  !  It  was  Sinai  over  again,  with  its 
thunderings  and  lightnings  and  thick  darkness,  and  the 
Lord  was  on  our  side.  Then  the  storm  ceased,  and  occa- 
sional dropping  shots  told  off  the  evening  till  half  past  nine, 
and  then  a  crashing  volley  and  a  rebel  yell  and  a  desperate 
charge.  It  was  their  good  night  to  our  boys  ;  their  good 
night  to  the  mountain.  They  had  been  met  on  their  own 
vantage  ground  ;  they  had  been  driven  one  and  a  half  miles. 
The  Federal  foot  touched  the  hill,  indeed,  but  above  still 
towered  the  precipice. 

At  dawn  Captain  Wilson  and  fifteen  men  of  the  Eighth 
Kentucky  crept  up  among  the  rocky  clefts,  handing  their 
guns  one  to  another,  and  stood  at  length  upon  the  summit. 
And  there,  just  as  the  sun  was  touching  up  the  old  Depart- 
ment of  the  Cumberland,  Captain  Wilson  and  his  fifteen  men, 
near  where  the  gun  had  crouched  and  growled  at  all  the 
land,  waved  the  regimental  flag,  in  sight  of  Tennessee,  Ala- 
bama, Georgia,  in  sight  of  the  old  "  North  State"  and  South 
Carolina,  —  waved  it  there,  —  and  the  right  of  the  Federal 
front,  lying  far  beneath,  caught  a  glimpse  of  its  flutter,  and  a 
cheer  rose  from  regiment  to  regiment  through  whole  brigades 
and  broad  divisions,  till  the  boys  away  round  in  the  face  of 
Mission  Ridge  passed  it  along  the  line  of  battle.  "  The  sight 
of  that  gridiron  did  my  soul  good,"  said  General  Meigs. 
"  What  is  it  ?  Our  flag  ?  Did  I  help  put  it  there  ?  "  mur- 
mured a  poor  wounded  fellow,  and  died  without  the  sight. 


6  THE    NEW    CENTURY    SPEAKER. 

THE  CAREER  OF  GORDON. 

FREDERICK  J.  SWIFT. 

SPRUNG  from  a  race  of  soldiers,  Charles  Gordon  early  dis- 
played the  military  spirit.  It  was  in  the  trenches  before 
Sebastopol  that  he  began  his  heroic  career  which  to-day 
reads  like  a  romance  of  the  Crusades.  Later,  in  a  campaign 
of  daring  adventure  and  military  strategy,  he  crushed  the 
T'ai  P'ing  rebellion,  and  is  henceforth  known  to  fame  as 
"  Chinese  "  Gordon. 

But  perhaps  the  most  beautiful  portion  of  his  career,  in 
all  respects,  was  his  life  at  Gravesend,  whither  he  had  been 
sent  after  the  Chinese  rebellion,  to  improve  the  defenses  of 
the  Thames.  Here  he  was  a  self-sacrificing  missionary, 
ministering  to  the  wants  of  the  poor,  the  unfortunate,  the 
sick,  the  dying.  Literally  following  in  the  footsteps  of  his 
Divine  Master,  he  here  devoted  himself  to  doing  good  as 
each  day  and  hour  gave  opportunity. 

But  a  strange  providence  awaits  him  in  Central  Africa, 
which  is  to  round  into  still  finer  proportions  his  grand  and 
beautiful  life.  The  slave  trade  must  die.  Gordon's  must 
be  the  hand  to  strike  the  fatal  blow.  So  well  was  his  task 
accomplished  in  that  portion  of  the  Dark  Continent  that  the 
Egyptian  Khedive  sends  him  to  free  from  this  great  evil  his 
vast  sandy  possessions  in  the  Soudan.  To-day,  the  story 
of  his  three  years'  labors  in  that  land  which  no  man  ever 
wanted  and  which  once  possessed  has  ever  proved  a  curse 
to  its  owner,  is  the  story  of  the  mightiest  heroism,  the 
noblest  self-sacrifice  of  our  age. 

Strange  history  that  repeats  itself !  In  China  again  as  a 
peace-maker!  Once  more,  alas,  in  the  Soudan  !  For  a  year 
he  seeks  to  undo  the  results  of  Egyptian  tyranny.  "  But  all 
in  vain."  He  is  alone  in  the  desert  with  naught  but  a  feeble 


THE    CAREER    OF    GORDON.  7 

foreign  garrison.  He  asks  for  aid.  Finally,  the  English  govern- 
ment, unable  longer  to  resist  the  popular  will,  orders  Lord 
Wolseley  to  his  relief.  The  commander  sails  for  Egypt  and 
moves  on  to  Khartoum  by  the  way  of  the  Nile.  Slowly  and 
laboriously  he  struggles  on  his  tortuous  way.  The  months 
slip  by,  freighted  with  a  thousand  anxious  thoughts  of  the 
brave  Christian  warrior  and  his  garrison.  Wolseley  reaches 
the  conjunction  of  the  Blue  and  White  Nile.  Yonder  lies 
Khartoum  !  But  where  is  the  flag  that  so  long  has  "waved 
defiance  "  to  the  Arab  ?  What  means  this  ominous  silence  ? 
Alas  !  "  It  is  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death."  A  blind- 
ing storm  of  bullets  tells  the  whole  sad  story.  Khartoum 
has  fallen;  Gordon  and  the  garrison  are  cold  in  death. 

Too  late,  England  !  Too  late,  Wolseley !  All  useless  now 
are  murmurings. 

What  matters  it  that  the  Suakim  route  might  have  saved 
Khartoum  and  its  intrepid  commander  !  What  matters  it 
that  Wolseley  chose  the  Nile  route,  with  its  months  of  toil 
and  danger.  All  is  over  with  Gordon.  Wolseley's  terrible 
mistake  can  never  be  condoned.  England  is  put  to  shame. 
One  of  the  bravest  Christian  warriors  of  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury is  sacrificed  for  naught,  Stupendous  wickedness  of 
delay  that  robbed  the  world  of  one  of  its  brightest,  purest 
souls,  its  noblest  representative  of  manhood,  —  the  fair  and 
consummate  flower  of  Christian  valor. 

A  unique  character,  an  individuality  in  which  were  blended 
imperiousness  and  tenderness. 


8  THE    NEW    CENTURY    SPEAKER. 

CATHERINE  DE  MEDICIS. 

W.    M.    PUNSHON. 

THE    character    of    Catherine    de    Medicis    is    a    study. 
Remorseless  without  cruelty  and  sensual  without  passion  — 
a  diplomatist  without  principle  and  a  dreamer  without  faith 

—  a  wife  without  affection  and  a  mother  without  feeling  — 
we  look  in  vain  for  her  parallel.     See  her  in  her  oratory  ! 
Devouter  Catholic  never  told  his  beads.     See  her  in   the 
council   room  !    Royal   caprice   yielded  to  her  commanding 
will ;  soldiers  faltered  beneath  her  glance  who  never  cowered 
from  sheen  of  spears  nor  blenched  at  flashing  steel  ;   and 
hoary-headed  statesmen  who  had  made  politics  their  study 
confessed  that  she  outmatched  them  in  her  cool  and  crafty 
wisdom.     See  her  in  disaster  !   More  philosophical  resigna- 
tion never  mastered  suffering;  braver  heroism  never  bared 
its  breast  to  storm.     Such  was  Catherine  de  Medicis,  the 
sceptered  sorceress  of  Italy.     We  gaze  upon  her  with  a  sort 
of  constrained  and  awful  admiration,  as  upon  an  embodi- 
ment of  power  —  but  power  cold,  crafty,  passionless,  cruel 

—  the  power  of  the   serpent,   with   basilisk  eye,   and  iron 
fang,  and  deadly  gripe,  and  poisonous  trail. 

But  it  is  in  connection  with  the  massacre  of  St.  Bartholo- 
mew that  we  think  of  Catherine  de  Medicis.  On  the  24th 
of  August,  1572,  at  the  noon  of  night,  the  queen  mother  and 
her  two  guilty  sons  were  shivering  in  all  the  timidness  of 
cruelty  in  the  royal  chamber.  They  maintained  a  sullen 
silence,  for  conscience  had  made  cowards  of  them.  As  they 
looked  out  into  the  oppressed  and  solitary  night  a  pistol 
shot  was  heard.  Remorse  seized  upon  the  irresolute  mon- 
arch, and  he  issued  orders  to  arrest  the  tragedy.  It  was 
too  late,  for  the  royal  tigress  at  his  side,  anticipating  that 
his  purpose  might  waver,  had  already  commanded  the 


CATHERINE    DE    MEDICIS.  9 

signal  ;  and  even  as  they  spoke  the  bell  of  St.  Germain  aux 
Auxerrois  tolled,  heavy  and  dooming,  through  the  darkness. 
Forth  issued  the  courtly  butchers  to  their  work  of  blood. 
At  the  onset  the  brave  old  Admiral  de  Coligny  was  mas- 
sacred, and  the  Huguenots  in  the  Louvre  were  despatched 
by  halberdiers.  Armed  men,  shouting  "  For  God  and  the 
king,"  traversed  the  streets  and  forced  the  dwellings  of 
the  heretics. 

The  populace,  already  inflamed  by  the  sight  of  blood, 
followed  in  the  track  of  slaughter,  mutilating  the  corpses 
and  dragging  them  through  the  kennels  in  derision.  The 
leaders,  riding  fiercely  from  street  to  street,  roused  the  pas- 
sion into  frenzy  by  their  cries;  "Kill,  kill  !  Blood-letting 
is  good  in  August!  By  the  king's  command!  Death  to  the 
Huguenot  !  Kill  !  "  On  sped  the  murder,  until  city  and 
palace  were  gorged.  Men  forgot  their  manhood  and 
women  their  tenderness.  The  human  was  turned  into  the 
brutal.  The  roads  were  almost  impassable  from  the  corpses 
of  men,  women,  and  children.  Paris  became  one  vast  Red 
Sea,  whose  blood  waves  had  no  refluent  tide.  The  sun  of 
that  blessed  Sabbath  shone,  with  its  clear,  kind  light,  upon 
thousands  of  dishonored  and  desolate  homes ;  and  the  air, 
which  should  have  been  hushed  from  sound  until  the  psalm 
of  devotion  woke  it,  carried  upon  its  startled  billows  the 
yells  of  blasphemers,  flushed  and  drunk  with  murder,  and 
the  shrieks  of  parting  spirits,  like  a  host  of  unburied  wit- 
nesses, crying  from  beneath  the  altar  unto  God,  "  How  long, 
O  Lord,  how  long  !  " 

The  massacre  was  renewed  in  the  provinces.  For  seven 
long  days  Paris  was  a  scene  of  pillage.  Fifteen  thousand 
in  the  capital  and  one  hundred  thousand  throughout  the 
whole  of  France  are  supposed  to  have  perished,  many  by 
the  edge  of  the  sword,  and  many  more  by  the  protracted 
perils  of  flight  and  famine. 


10  THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

THE  CONFEDERATE  SERGEANT. 

ADAPTED. 

IT  was  in  the  valley  of  the  Shenandoah.  General  Stewart, 
with  a  rebel  mob,  was  hanging  on  the  Federal  flank.  His 
midnight  camp  was  pitched  on  a  hillside,  while  a  little  way 
up  the  hill  lay  a  farmhouse,  with  two  or  three  haystacks 
standing  near.  The  general  had  just  discovered,  in  a 
group  of  his  ragged,  wretched  troopers,  a  little  child,  a  boy, 
perhaps  four  years  old.  Turning  to  the  sergeant  in  com- 
mand, he  said,  "  sergeant,  where  did  this  child  come  from  ? 
Take  it  at  once  to  its  mother."  "  Its  mother  is  dead, 
general."  "Dead?"  "Yes,  killed  in  the  battle  yesterday, 
when  you  led  the  boys  over  the  stone  fence  by  the  farm- 
house on  the  hill.  I  found  this  little  fellow  in  a  fence 
corner,  all  a-shivering,  his  father  and  mother  dead,  shot 
down  when  we  stormed  the  place." 

As  the  sergeant  spoke,  the  child  reached  out  a  little  flag 
he  held  in  his  hand,  as  if  to  make  friends  with  the  general, 
who  was  turning  away  as  if  to  avoid  him. 

"  Sergeant,  where  did  that  Union  flag  come  from  ? " 
"  The  boy  had  it  in  his  hand  when  I  found  him.  He  said 
his  father  gave  it  to  him  for  the  Fourth  of  July." 

The  general  turned,  stooped,  and  caught  the  child  in  his 
arms.  "Keep  your  pretty  little  flag,  my  boy,"  he  said. 
"  You  don't  know  the  difference,  and  I  wish^  that  I  didn't 
know  and  never  had  known  the  difference.  Here,  sergeant, 
take  care  of  this  child.  Boys,  we  killed  his  father  yester- 
day ;  let  us  take  care  of  him.  Maybe  he  will  bring  luck  to 
some  of  us  ;  what  do  you  say,  boys  ? " 

As  the  general  strode  away  into  the  night,  toward 
another  part  of  the  camp,  the  sergeant  hoisted  the  child 
high  on  his  colossal  shoulders.  But  suddenly  he  turned 


THE  CONFEDERATE  SERGEANT.  II 

to  look  and  to  listen,  for  there  was  a  shout  down  the  hill, 
and  a  sudden  sharp  volley  of  shots  above  beyond  the  hay- 
stacks. Yes,  a  large  Federal  force  was  in  full  pursuit  of 
the  little  band  of  rebel  night  raiders.  But  one  way  of 
safety  seemed  open  to  him  and  his  flying  companions. 
It  was  up  the  stony  hill  to  the  haystacks.  And  up  the  hill, 
over  the  brush,  through  the  woods,  with  the  child  on  his 
shoulders,  he  led  the  flight.  But  suddenly  the  haystacks 
blaze  out  before  him,  and  the  whole  scene  is  as  light  as  day. 
The  Federals  have  been  waiting  for  the  Confederates  to 
come.  And  now,  as  they  stand  there,  helpless  and  terrified, 
they  see  the  haystacks  in  the  path  of  their  retreat  and  the 
Federal  soldiers  above  them,  behind  them,  around  them,  to 
shoot  them  down  in  the  light  they  have  kindled. 

Matchless  and  magnificent  was  that  light.  It  pleased 
the  child,  excited,  delighted  him.  What  did  he  know  of 
the  death  hiding  down  in  every  gleaming  gun  barrel  of  that 
compact  mass  of  uniformed  men  before  them  !  And  so,  just 
as  the  Federal  officer  drew  his  sword  and  was  giving  the 
word,  "  Fire,"  the  child,  holding  with  one  hand  tightly  on 
the  sergeant's  head,  waved  with  the  other  his  little  Union 
flag  above  his  head,  there  in  the  glow  and  the  light.  And 
in  that  awful  stillness  that  comes  before  any  dreadful  catas- 
trophe, the  child,  raising  himself  higher  on  the  sergeant's 
shoulder,  shouted  out  in  his  brave  little  voice,  "  Fourth  of 
July  !  Fourth  of  July  !  " 

As  the  boyish  shout  ceased  the  rebel  sergeant  waited 
for  the  fire  of  the  guns  that  was  to  be  his  death.  But  put 
it  on  record  in  gold  and  in  red  that  at  the  sight  of  that  flag 
the  line  of  blue  divided,  and  the  old  gray  Confederate  ser- 
geant, with  his  charge  on  his  shoulder  still  waving  his  tiny 
flag,  passed  on  through  the  lines,  saved  by  the  child  he 
bore,  while  cheer  after  cheer  shook  the  bullet-ridden  leaves 
of  the  old  oaks  overhead. 


12  THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

THE  CONVICT'S  DEATH. 

CHARLES  DICKENS. 

AT  last,  one  bitter  night,  the  old  convict  sank  down  on  a 
doorstep  faint  and  ill.  The  decay  of  vice  and  profligacy 
had  worn  him  to  the  bone.  His  cheeks  were  hollow  and 
livid;  his  eyes  were  sunken,  and  their  sight  was  dim.  And 
now  the  long-forgotten  scenes  of  a  misspent  life  crowded 
thick  and  fast  upon  him.  He  thought -of  the  time  when  he 
had  a  home,  —  a  happy,  cheerful  home,  —  and  of  those  who 
peopled  it,  until  the  forms  of  his  children  seemed  to  stand 
about  him.  So  plain,  so  clear,  and  so  distinct  were  they 
that  he  could  touch  and  feel  them.  Looks  that  he  had  long 
ago  forgotten  were  fixed  upon  him  once  more.  Voices  long 
since  hushed  in  death  sounded  in  his  ears  like  the  music  of 
village  bells.  But  it  was  only  for  an  instant.  The  rain 
beat  heavily  upon  him,  and  cold  and  hunger  were  gnawing 
at  his  heart  again. 

Suddenly  he  started  up  in  ttie  extremity  of  terror.  He 
had  heard  his  own  voice  shouting  in  the  night  air,  he  knew 
not  what  or  why.  Hark!  A  groan  !  Another  !  His  senses 
were  leaving  him ;  half-formed  and  incoherent  words  burst 
from  his  lips,  and  his  hands  sought  to  tear  and  lacerate  his 
flesh.  He  was  going  mad  and  he  shrieked  for  help  until 
his  voice  failed  him.  At  last  he  raised  his  head  and  looked  up 
the  long,  dismal  street.  In  an  instant  his  resolve  was  taken, 
his  limbs  received  new  life  ;  he  ran  quickly  from  the  spot  and 
paused  not  for  breath  until  he  reached  the  river-side.  The 
tide  was  in,  and  the  water  flowed  at  his  feet.  The  rain 
had  ceased,  the  wind  was  lulled,  and  all  was  still  and 
quiet.  So  quiet  was  it  that  the  slightest  sound  on  the 
opposite  bank,  even  the  rippling  of  the  water  against  the 
barges  that  were  moored  there,  was  distinctly  audible  to  his 


THE    CONVICTS    DEATH,  13 

ear.  The  stream  stole  languidly  and  sluggishly  on.  Strange 
and  fantastic  forms  rose  to  the  surface  and  beckoned  him 
to  approach ;  dark,  gleaming  eyes  peered  from  the  water 
and  seemed  to  mock  his  hesitation,  while  the  hollow  mur- 
murs from  behind  urged  him  onward.  He  retreated  a  few 
paces,  took  a  short  run,  a  desperate  leap,  and  plunged  into 
the  water. 

Not  five  seconds  had  passed  when  he  rose  to  the  water's 
surface  —  but  what  a  change  had  taken  place  in  that  short 
time  in  all  his  thoughts  and  feelings  !  Life  !  life  in  any 
form,  —  poverty,  misery,  starvation,  —  anything  but  death. 
He  fought  and  struggled  with  the  water  that  closed  over  his 
head,  and  screamed  in  agonies  of  terror.  The  shore  —  but 
one  foot  of  dry  ground  —  he  could  almost  touch  the  step. 
One  hand's  breadth  nearer  and  he  was  saved  —  but  the  tide 
bore  him  onward  under  the  dark  arches  of  the  bridge  and 
he  sank  to  the  bottom. 

Again  he  rose  and  struggled  for  life.  For  an  instant  the 
buildings  on  the  river's  bank,  the  lights  on  the  bridge,  the 
black  water  and  the  fast-flying  clouds  were  distinctly  visible 
—  once  more  he  sank,  and  once  again  he  rose.  Bright 
flames  of  fire  shot  up  from  earth  to  heaven  and  reeled 
before  his  eyes,  while  the  water  thundered  in  his  ears  and 
stunned  him  with  its  furious  roar.  Another  instant  —  a 
gasp  —  a  gurgle  —  and  the  Thames  had  borne  him  down  — 
down  from  life  and  hope  to  the  blackness  of  darkness  of 
the  suicide's  death. 

A  week  after  the  body  was  washed  ashore,  a  swollen  and 
disfigured  mass.  Unrecognized  and  unpitied,  it  was  carried 
to  the  grave,  and  there  it  has  long  since  mouldered  away. 


14  THE    NEW    CENTURY    SPEAKER. 

CULTURE  IN  EMERGENCIES. 

ADAPTED. 

IT  has  been  well  said  that  the  great  moral  victories  and 
defeats  of  the  world  hang  on  the  decision  of  the  moment. 
Crises  come,  the  seizing  of  which  is  triumph,  the  neglect  of 
which  is  ruin.  Nearly  every  battle  turns  on  the  one  or  two 
rapid  movements,  executed  amid  the  whirl  of  smoke  and 
thunder  of  guns,  that  jar  the  solid  globe.  In  the  very  crisis 
of  a  duel  a  sword  breaks ;  in  the  moment  of  collision  with 
the  enemy  the  leader's  horse  is  killed  by  a  flash  of  light- 
ning. Such  events  paralyze  the  feeble  mind,  but  in  the 
man  of  instant  decision  they  awake  a  terrific  power. 

At  Marengo  word  was  brought  to  Desaix :  "  The  bat- 
tle is  completely  lost."  But  before  he  gives  the  expected 
order  to  retreat  there  is  a  glance  at  the  field,  a  look  at  his 
watch,  an  instantaneous  decision,  and  the  quick,  lightning- 
like  reply  :  "  No  matter  if  the  battle  is  lost ;  it  is  only  ten 
o'clock,  and  we  shall  have  time  to  gain  another!"  Then 
followed  that  famous  cavalry  charge  which  swept  the  field 
so  suddenly  and  irresistibly  that  the  victors  became  the 
vanquished. 

We  would  not  decry  culture ;  but  there  is  a  kind  of  train- 
ing that  deprives  the  mind  of  this  moving,  vitalizing  power 
which  belongs  to  the  man  of  decision.  Thus  in  great 
crises  elegant  and  polished  scholars  have  rarely  been  the 
men  of  the  hour.  Charlemagne  could  scarcely  sign  his  own 
name;  Cromwell  was  "inarticulate";  and  the  hand  that 
would  have  throttled  secession  in  its  cradle,  the  hand  of 
Andrew  Jackson,  belonged  to  one  whom  his  biographer 
pronounces  "  the  most  ignorant  man  in  the  world."  But 
such  men,  in  critical  moments,  are  not  fettered  by  methods 
and  rules  and  formalities. 


CULTURE    IN    EMERGENCIES.  IS 

When  the  great  obelisk,  brought  from  Egypt  in  1586, 
was  erected  in  the  square  of  St.  Peter's,  in  Rome,  the 
tackle  was  all  arranged  for  the  delicate  and  perilous  work. 
To  make  all  safe  and  to  prevent  the  possibility  of  accident 
from  any  sudden  cry  or  alarm,  a  papal  edict  had  proclaimed 
death  to  any  man  who  should  utter  a  loud  word,  till  the 
engineer  had  given  the  order  that  all  risk  was  passed. 

As  the  majestic  monolith  moved  up  the  populace  closed 
in.  The  square  was  crowded  with  admiring  eyes  and  beat- 
ing hearts.  Slowly  that  crystallization  of  Egyptian  sweat 
rises  on  its  base  —  five  degrees  —  ten  degrees  —  fifteen  — 
twenty  —  there  are  signs  of  faltering  !  No  mutter  —  no  voice 
—  silence  !  It  moves  again  —  twenty-five  —  thirty  —  forty  — 
forty-three  —  it  stops  !  See!  Those  hempen  cables  which 
like  faithful  servants  have  obeyed  the  mathematician  have 
suddenly  received  an  order  from  God  not  to  hold  that  base 
steady  another  instant  on  those  terms.  The  obedient 
masons  look  at  each  other, — silent,  —  and  then  watch  the 
threatening  masses  of  stone.  Among  the  crowd,  silence, — 
silence  everywhere,  obedience  to  law,  —  and  the  sun  shone 
on  the  stillness  and  despair. 

Suddenly  from  out  that  breathless  throng  rang  a  cry, 
clear  as  the  archangel's  trumpet,—  "Wet  the  ropes!  "  The 
crowd  turned  to  look.  Tiptoe  on  a  post,  in  a  jacket  of 
homespun,  his  eyes  full  of  prophetic  fire,  stood  a  workman 
of  the  people.  His  words  flashed  like  lightning  and  struck. 
From  the  engineer  to  his  lowest  assistant  the  cry  had 
instant  obedience.  Water  was  dashed  on  the  cables ;  they 
bit  fiercely  into  the  granite  ;  the  windlasses  were  manned 
once  more,  and  the  obelisk  rose  to  its  place  and  took  its 
stand  for  centuries. 

And  so  often,  where  excessive  culture  in  its  timidity  and 
inaction  fail,  native  vigor  and  promptitude  meet  the  crisis 
and  win  the  victory. 


1 6  THE    NEW    CENTURY    SPEAKER. 

THE   DESTRUCTION   OF  JERUSALEM. 

FRANK  D.  BUDLONG. 

"  BEAUTIFUL  for  situation,  the  joy  of  the  whole  earth  was 
Mount  Zion,  the  city  of  the  great  King  !  "  Her  streets, 
markets,  and  bazaars  stretched  along  the  slopes  and  down 
the  valleys,  while  alone  in  isolated  grandeur  Mount  Moriah 
rose,  terrace  upon  terrace,  high  above  the  busy  city.  On  its 
summit  the  temple  stood  out,  a  mass  of  showy  marble  and 
gold,  glittering  in  the  sunlight. 

Jerusalem  was  seemingly  impregnable.  With  wall  about 
wall,  tower  guarding  tower,  those  massive  bulwarks  were 
apparently  as  enduring  as  "  the  mountains  round  about." 
Yet,  impregnable  as  seemed  Jerusalem,  the  time  had  come 
for  the  sad  fulfillment  of  prophecy  when  the  city  was  to  fall. 
It  was  now  the  feast  of  the  Passover,  —  this  last  Passover 
of  the  Jewish  people.  For  fifteen  hundred  years  God's  pro- 
tecting promise  had  been  their  shield.  No  nation  had  made 
war  upon  them,  no  man  desired  their  land,  when  they  had 
appeared  before  the  Lord  thrice  in  the  year.  Then  the 
plains  were  dotted  with  the  tents  of  a  countless  multitude ; 
the  air  was  redolent  with  the  perfume  of  flowers;  the  vast 
terraces  crowned  with  blooming  fruit  trees.  Now  all  is 
desolation.  The  whole  plain  had  been  devastated;  blooming 
gardens  and  bubbling  fountains  had  disappeared;  fruit  trees 
with  their  rich  promise  had  fallen  under  the  Roman  axe. 
The  air  is  dark  with  missiles  from  death-dealing  engines, 
and  mighty  battering  rams  are  at  work. 

And  now  a  new  terror  appeared  within  the  walls.  The 
great  storehouse  had  been  fired  by  the  opposing  factions, 
and  the  horrified  populace  saw  their  supplies  swept  away  by 
the  flames.  With  the  scarcity  of  food,  the  fury  of  the  insur- 
gents increased.  Famine  within,  a  pitiless  foe  without, 


THE    DESTRUCTION    OE    JERUSALEM.  \J 

—  it  was  a  desperate,  hopeless  fight.  Every  kindred  feel- 
ing, —  love,  respect,  affection,  —  became  extinct.  The  strong 
preyed  upon  the  weak,  the  weak  upon  the  dying.  Children 
snatched  the  last  morsel  from  the  lips  of  parents,  and 
mothers  from  their  children.  Whole  families  lay  dying, 
while  the  streets  were  filled  with  unburied  corpses  —  some 
staring  fiercely  upwards,  others  with  mute,  appealing  eyes 
as  if  asking  pity  from  Heaven.  Mothers  watched  the  last 
sleep  stealing  upon  their  children  without  a  pang ;  their  life 
and  hope  went  out  together.  "  There  was  no  sorrow,  no 
wailing  ;  they  had  no  strength  to  weep.'7  Silence  deep  and 
solemn  brooded  over  the  city,  broken  only  by  the  marauders 
as  they  forced  open  the  houses  to  plunder  the  dead. 

Repeatedly  Titus  summoned  the  Jews  to  surrender,  but 
in  vain.  Then  a  night  attack  was  ordered.  But  the  Jews 
were  on  the  watch,  and  as  the  Romans  attempted  to  scale 
the  walls,  the  defenders  leaped  down  upon  them,  sword  in 
hand,  fighting  like  demons.  Yet  the  steady  courage  of  the 
Romans  could  not  be  repelled ;  they  pressed  onward,  foot 
by  foot,  and  at  last  were  in  possession  of  the  inner  wall. 
And  now  the  temple  was  the  last  refuge  of  the  Jews.  Even 
the  hard-hearted  Romans  stood  in  awe  at  thought  of  pollut- 
ing this  holy  place. 

It  was  the  evening  of  the  tenth  of  August,  a  day  already 
dark  in  the  Jewish  calendar.  The  Roman  leader  had  retired 
to  rest,  intending  next  morning  to  make  a  general  assault. 
The  gentle,  summer  twilight  came  on,  and  the  setting  sun 
had  shone  for  the  last  time  on  the  snow-white  walls  and 
glistening  pinnacles  of  the  temple.  Suddenly  a  wild  and 
terrible  cry  is  heard  :  "  The  temple  is  on  fire  !  The  temple 
is  on  fire  !  "  A  Roman  soldier  had  cast  a  burning  brand 
into  one  of  the  chambers.  In  a  moment  the  fire  has  caught 
in  the  dry  cedar,  and  tongues  of  flame  rise  hissing  and  roar- 
ing to  the  roof.  The  soldiers,  not  heeding  the  voice  of  their 


1 8  THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

commander,  rush  like  furies  to  the  work  of  destruction. 
Brand  after  brand  is  thrown  into  the  chambers,  fire  springs 
to  meet  fire,  and  the  whole  temple  is  a  blaze  of  light.  "  Like 
wild  beasts  environed  in  a  burning  forest,"  the  Jews  see  the 
awful  circle  of  fire  hem  them  in.  What  wonder  that  they 
stood  with  blanched  cheeks  and  staring  eyes,  gasping, 
motionless.  Here  was  a  foe  more  terrible  than  any  they 
had  encountered,  against  which  there  was  no  human  defense. 
There  is  only  a  choice  of  death.  A  feeling  of  revenge  stirs 
their  blood.  They  grasp  their  swords,  and  rush  to  the  gates 
only  to  be  cut  down  and  trampled  upon  by  the  furious  sol- 
diers. The  way  is  choked  with  dead.  The  temple  steps 
rnn  with  blood  ;  and  still  the  awful  carnage  goes  on.  Those 
who  fight  and  those  who  entreat  mercy  fall  side  by  side. 
Higher  and  higher  leap  the  flames,  until  the  whole  summit 
of  the  hill  blazes  like  a  volcano.  It  lights  the  city  from  wall 
to  wall.  It  glows  against  the  summer  sky,  and  brings  out 
in  horrid  relief  the  blood-stained  Romans  and  heaps  of  dead. 
But  at  length  the  cries  of  the  insurgents  perishing  within 
the  courts  grow  fainter  and  fainter.  One  after  another  of 
the  buildings  fall.  The  lofty  pinnacles  totter  and  plunge 
with  thundering  crash  into  the  fiery  chasm.  The  beautiful 
temple  is  a  shapeless  ruin. 

So  fell  Jerusalem.  Its  destruction  was  not  only  a  fulfill- 
ment of  prophecy,  but  it  also  transmits  to  us  its  own  impres- 
sive lesson  —  "righteousness  exalteth  a  nation,  but  sin  is  a 
reproach  to  any  people." 


THE    DOOM    OF    CLAUDIUS    AND    CYNTHIA.  IQ 

THE  DOOM   OF   CLAUDIUS   AND   CYNTHIA. 

(Abridged.) 
MAURICE  THOMPSON. 

IT  was  in  the  mid- splendor  of  the  reign  of  the  Emperor 
Commodus.  The  emperor  was  quite  easily  flattered  and 
more  easily  insulted.  Especially  desirous  of  being  accounted 
the  best  swordsman  and  the  most  fearless  gladiator  in  Rome, 
he  still  better  enjoyed  the  reputation  of  being  the  incompar- 
able archer.  It  can  therefore  be  well  understood  how 
Claudius,  by  publicly  boasting  that  he  was  a  better  archer 

than  Commodus,  had  brought  upon  himself  the  calamity  p£r 

11-  •  ^l 

a  public  execution. 

The  rumor  was  abroad  in  Rome  that  on  a  certain  night  a 
most  startling  scene  would  be  enacted  in  the  circus.  The 
result  was  that  on  this  particular  night  the  vast  building  was 
crowded  at  an  early  hour.  Commodus  himself,  surrounded 
by  a  great  number  of  his  favorites,  sat  on  a  high,  richly 
cushioned  throne,  prepared  for  him  about  midway  one  side 
of  the  vast  inclosure.  All  was  still,  as  if  the  multitude  were 
breathless  with  expectancy.  Presently,  out  from  one  of  the 
openings,  a  young  man  and  a  young  woman,  —  a  mere  girl, 
—  their  hands  bound  behind  them,  were  led  forth  upon  the 
sand  of  the  arena,  and  forced  to  walk  around  the  entire 
circumference  of  the  place. 

At  length  the  giant  circuit  was  completed,  and  the  two 
were  left  standing  on  the  sand,  distant  about  one  hundred 
and  twenty  feet  from  the  emperor,  who  now  arose  and  in  a 
loud  voice  said :  "  Behold  the  condemned  Claudius  and 
Cynthia,  whom  he  lately  took  for  his  wife.  The  crime  for 
which  they  are  to  die  is  a  great  one.  Claudius  has  publicly 
proclaimed  that  he  is  a  better  archer  than  I,  Commodus,  am. 
I  am  the  emperor  and  the  incomparable  archer  of  Rome. 


2O  THE    NE,W    CENTURY    SPEAKER. 

Whoever  disputes  it  dies  and  his  wife  dies  with  him.  It  is 
decreed."  It  was  enough  to  touch  the  heart  of  even  a 
-Roman  to  see  the  tender  innocence  of  that  fair  girl's  face 
as  she  turned  it  up  in  speechless,  tearless,  appealing  grief 
and  anguish  to  her  husband's. 

Immediately  a  large  cage  containing  two  fierce-eyed  and 
famished  tigers  was  brought  into  the  arena  and  placed 
before  the  victims.  The  hungry  beasts  growled  and  howled, 
lapping  their  tongues  and  plunging  up  against  the  door. 
A  murmur  ran  all  round  that  vast  ellipse  —  a  murmur  of 
remonstrance  and  disgust ;  for  now  every  one  saw  that  the 
spectacle  was  to  be  a  foul  murder  without  even  the  show  of 
a  struggle. 

Then  a  sound  came  from  the  cage  which  no  words  can 
ever  describe,  —  the  hungry  howl,  the  clashing  teeth,  the 
hissing  breath  of  the  tigers,  along  with  a  sharp  clang  of  the 
iron  bars  spurned  by  their  rushing  feet.  The  circus  fairly 
shook  with  the  plunge  of  Death  toward  its  victims.  Look 
for  a  brief  moment  upon  the  picture  :  fifty  thousand  faces 
or  more  thrust  forward  gazing,  the  helpless  couple,  lost  to 
everything  but  the  horrors  of  death,  quivering  from  foot  to 
crown.  Note  the  spotless  beauty  and  the  unselfish  love  of 
the  girl.  Mark  well  the  stern  power  of  the  young  man's 
face.  Think  how  sweet  life  must  be  to  them  on  the  thres- 
hold of  marriage.  And  now,  oh  !  now  look  at  those  bound- 
ing, flaming-eyed  tigers. 

There  came  from  the  place  where  Commodus  stood  a 
clear  musical  note,  such  as  might  have  come  from  the  grav- 
est chord  of.  a  lyre  if  powerfully  struck,  closely  followed 
by  a  keen,  far-reaching  hiss,  like  the  whisper  of  fate,  ending 
in  a  heavy  blow.  The  multitude  caught  breath  and  stared. 
The  foremost  tiger,  while  yet  in  mid  air,  curled  itself  up  with 
a  gurgling  cry  of  utter  pain,  and  with  blood  gushing  from 
its  eyes,  ears,  and  mouth  fell  heavily  down,  dying.  Again 


EULOGY  ON  HENRY  WARD  BEECHER.        21 

the  sweet,  insinuating  twang,  the  hiss,  and  the  stroke.  The 
second  beast  fell  dead  or  dying  upon  the  first.  This 
explained  all.  The  emperor  had  demonstrated  his  right  to 
be  called  the  Royal  Bowman  of  the  World. 

"  Lead  them  out  and  set  them  free  !  "  he  cried  in  a  loud, 
heartless  voice.  "  Lead  them  out  and  tell  it  everywhere  that 
Commodus  is  the  Incomparable  Bowman  ! " 

And  then,  when  it  was  realized  that  the  lovers  had  not 
been  hurt,  a  great  stir  began,  and  out  from  a  myriad  over- 
joyed and  admiring  hearts  leaped  a  storm  of  thanks,  while 
with  clash  and  bray  of  musical  instruments,  and  with  voices 
like  the  voices  of  winds  and  seas,  and  with  a  clapping  of 
hands  like  the  rending  roar  of  tempests,  the  vast  audience 
arose  as  one  person  and  applauded  the  emperor. 


EULOGY   ON   HENRY   WARD  BEECHER. 

JOSEPH  PARKER,  D.D. 

AT  one  of  the  public  meetings  addressed  by  Mr.  Beecher 
in  England  an  organized  opposition  had  taken  possession  of 
part  of  the  hall.  Six  thousand  people  crowded  the  noble 
auditorium.  The  only  self-possessed  man  in  the  seething 
mass  was  Mr.  Beecher  himself.  "  Mr.  Chairman,"  said  he, 
and  instantly  the  hiss  and  groan  of  opposition  were  heard ; 
"  Mr.  Chairman,"  and  again  the  angry  storm  mingled  with 
the  enthusiastic  and  reverberating  cheers.  In  a  moment 
Mr.  Beecher's  whole  aspect  changed.  He  was  determined 
to  "  mount  the  whirlwind  and  direct  the  storm  ";  so,  advanc- 
ing still  nearer  to  the  front  of  the  platform,  he  exclaimed  : 
"  My  friends,  we  will  have  an  all-night  session,  but  we  will 
be  heard."  That  suited  the  English  temper,  and  the  whole 
audience  broke  out  into  a  thunder  of  applause  which  plainly 


22  THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

said  :  "  Heard  you  shall  be,  though  the  enemy  be  hurled 
into  the  murky  night."  The  inspired  orator  spoke,  ex- 
pounded, appealed,  fought,  and  conquered,  and  then  sat 
down  in  such  a  storm  of  cheers  as  probably  cannot  be  heard 
out  of  England. 

With  Pauline  astuteness,  he  conciliated  his  English  audi- 
ences by  exclaiming  :  "  We  bring  back  American  sheaves, 
but  the  seed  corn  we  got  in  England  ;  and  if,  in  a  larger 
sphere  and  under  circumstances  of  unobstruction,  we  have 
reared  mightier  harvests,  every  sheaf  contains  the  grain  that 
has  made  old  England  rich  for  a  hundred  years."  Then 
again  he  changed  his  tone,  and  said :  "  We  ask  no  help  and 
no  hindrance.  If  you  do  not  send  us  a  man,  we  do  not  ask 
for  a  man.  If  you  do  not  send  us  another  pound  of  gun- 
powder, we  are  able  to  make  our  own  gunpowder.  If  you 
do  not  send  us  another  musket  or  cannon,  we  have  cannon 
that  can  carry  five  miles  already."  When,  after  a  minute 
historical  statement,  he  said  :  "  Then  came  that  ever  mem- 
orable period  when  the  Fugitive  Slave  Bill  was  passed. 
Against  that  infamy  my  soul  revolted  and  these  lips  pro- 
tested, and  I  defied  the  government  to  its  face  and  told 
them  :  '  I  will  execute  none  of  your  unrighteous  law.  Send 
to  me  a  fugitive  who  is  fleeing  from  his  master,  and  I  will 
step  between  him  and  his  pursuer/"  —we  saw  the  philan- 
thropist who  was  neither  to  be  bribed  nor  threatened  into 
silence.  Arid  when  he  added  :  "  Not  once  nor  twice  have 
my  doors  been  shut  between  oppressor  and  the  oppressed  ; 
and  the  church  itself  over  which  I  minister  has  been  the 
unknown  refuge  of  many  and  many  a  one,"  —  we  felt  that 
he  conferred  upon  Plymouth  Church  a  fame  prouder  than 
the  renown  which  had  been  created  for  it  by  his  own  match- 
less eloquence. 

When  we  heard  of  the  transformation  of  Plymouth  Church 
into  a  paradise  as  the  dead  body  of  the  immortal  preacher 


.  EULOGY  ON  HENRY  WARD  HEECHER.         23 

lay  there,  we  said  surely  this  man  was  a  poet,  or  so  lovely  a 
crown  would  not  have  been  fashioned  in  his  honor.  When 
we  heard  the  muffled  drums  and  the  measured  tramp  of 
soldiers,  and  saw  the  furled  and  draped  banners,  and 
watched  five  hundred  men  march  to  the  house  of  death,  we 
said  surely  a  soldier  has  fallen  —  a  man,  an  officer,  of  whom 
his  comrades  were  proud.  And  when  we  saw  the  colored 
clergymen  of  Brooklyn  bowed  down  with  sacred  grief  as 
they  resolved  to  participate  in  the  honors  of  the  memorial, 
we  said  surely  this  man  was  a  philanthropist  and  an  eman- 
cipator of  his  brethren.  So  he  was.  He  was  poet  and 
soldier  and  statesman  and  a  deliverer  of  bondsmen.  He 
was  great  in  every  aspect ;  great  when  he  spoke  in  the  name 
of  the  united  nation  at  Sumter,  great  when  he  denounced 
the  sin  of  slavery,  great  when  he  opened  his  mouth  for  the 
dumb,  great  when  he  called  his  mutilated  country  back  to 
brotherhood  and  mutual  trust,  great  in  prayer,  great  in  suf- 
fering, great  when  he  pronounced  the  matchless  eulogy  on 
Grant  —  always  great. 

Every  man  who  knew  Mr.  Beecher  fixes  his  attention  upon 
some  incident  or  sermon  or  prayer  or  speech  which  best 
represents  the  genius  or  the  heart  of  the  man.  Had  I  an 
artist  at  command  I  could  order  pictures  that  gold  would 
never  buy.  I  could  say  to  the  artist  :  paint  him  in  conver- 
sation, with  all  the  April  variety  of  his  face,  constant  only 
in  its  truthfulness.  Catch  above  all  things  the  smile  : 
the  smile  which  began  so  far  away,  so  dawn-like,  and 
broadened  into  a  summer  morning.  O  painter,  let  me 
charge  thee  to  seize  that  spirit  smile.  But,  failing,  I  would 
have  thee  gather  thy  strength  for  one  supreme  effort ;  nay, 
a  miracle.  Invoke  all  the  ancestors  of  art  and  bid  them 
help  thee.  Paint  the  church  in  which  he  worked ;  the  Sun- 
day benediction  has  been  pronounced  ;  the  sun  has  long 
retired ;  the  white-haired  pastor  lingers  that  he  may  have  an 


24  THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

extra  benediction  through  the  medium  of  music ;  his  eyes 
are  full  of  tears ;  two  little  children  unconsciously  approach 
him  and  stand  quite  near;  he  turns,  he  sees  them,  he  lays  a 
hand  on  each  young  head;  then  he  kisses  the  wayfarers,  and 
with  his  hand  upon  them  or  around  them  the  three  walk 
away  together,  one  of  them  never  to  return. 


FORT   WAGNER. 

ANNA  E.  DICKINSON. 

THROUGH  the  whole  afternoon  there  had  been  a  tremen- 
dous cannonading  of  the  fort  from  the  gunboats  and  the 
land  forces.  About  six  o'clock  there  came  moving  up  the 
island,  over  the  burning  sands  and  under  the  burning  sky, 
a  stalwart,  splendid  appearing  set  of  men  who  looked  equal 
to  any  daring  and  capable  of  any  heroism.  Weary,  travel 
stained,  with  the  mire  and  the  rain  of  a  two  days'  tramp  ; 
weakened  by  the  incessant  strain  and  lack  of  food  ;  with 
gaps  in  their  ranks  made  by  the  death  of  comrades  who  had 
fallen  in  battle  but  a  little  time  before,  it  was  plain  to  be 
seen  of  what  stuff  these  men  were  made,  and  for  what  work 
they  were  ready. 

As  this  regiment,  the  famous  Fifty-fourth,  came  up  the 
island  to  take  its  place  at  the  head  of  the  storming  party  in 
the  assault  on  Wagner,  it  was  cheered  from  all  sides  by  the 
white  soldiers. 

The  day  was  lurid  and  sultry.  Great  masses  of  cloud, 
heavy  and  black,  were  piled  in  the  western  sky,  fringed  here 
and  there  by  an  angry  red,  and  torn  by  vivid  streams  of 
lightning.  Not  a  breath  of  wind  shook  the  leaves  or  stirred 
the  high,  rank  grass  by  the  water  side ;  a  portentous  and  awful 


FORT    WAGNER.  2$ 

stillness  filled  the  air.  Quiet,  with  the  like  awful  and  porten- 
tous calm,  the  black  regiment,  headed  by  its  young,  fair- 
haired,  knightly  colonel,  marched  to  its  destined  place  and 
action.  A  slightly  rising  ground,  raked  by  a  murderous  fire  ; 
a  ditch  holding  three  feet  of  water ;  a  straight  lift  of  parapet 
thirty  feet  high  —  an  impregnable  position,  held  by  a  desperate 
and  invincible  foe.  Here  the  word  of  command  was  given : 

"  We  are  ordered  and  expected  to  take  Battery  Wagner  at 
the  point  of  the  bayonet.  Are  you  ready  ?  " 

"  Ay,  ay,  sir  !  ready  !  "  was  the  answer. 

And  the  order  went  pealing  down  the  line  :  "  Ready ! 
Close  ranks!  Charge  bayonets !  Forward!  Double-quick, 
march  !  "  and  away  they  went,  under  a  scattering  fire,  in  one 
compact  line  till  within  one  hundred  feet  of  the  fort,  when 
the  storm  of  death  broke  upon  them.  Every  gun  belched 
forth  its  great  shot  and  shell  ;  every  rifle  whizzed  out  its 
sharp-singing,  death-freighted  messenger.  The  men  wavered 
not  for  an  instant ;  forward  —  forward  they  went.  They 
plunged  into  the  ditch  ;  waded  through  the  deep  water,  no 
longer  of  muddy  hue,  but  stained  crimson  with  their  blood ; 
and  commenced  to  climb  the  parapet.  The  foremost  line 
fell,  and  then  the  next,  and  the  next.  On,  over  the  piled-up 
mounds  of  dead  and  dying,  of  wounded  and  slain,  to  the 
mouth  of  the  battery  ;  seizing  the  guns ;  bayoneting  the 
gunners  at  their  posts  ;  planting  their  flag  and  struggling 
around  it ;  their  leader  on  the  walls,  sword  in  hand,  his 
blue  eyes  blazing,  his  fair  face  aflame,  his  clear  voice  calling 
out :  "  Forward,  my  brave  boys  !  "  —  then  plunging  into  the 
hell  of  battle  before  him. 

As  the  men  were  clambering  up  the  parapet  their  color 
sergeant  was  shot  dead.  A  nameless  hero  who  was  just 
behind  sprang  forward,  seized  the  staff  from  his  dying  hand, 
and  with  it  mounted  upward.  A  ball  struck  his  right  arm ; 
but  before  it  could  fall  shattered  by  his  side,  his  left  hand 


26  THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

caught  the  flag  and  carried  it  onward.  Though  faint  with 
loss  of  blood  and  wrung  with  agony,  he  kept  his  place,  —  the 
colors  flying,  —  up  the  slippery  steep  ;  up  to  the  walls  of  the 
fort ;  on  the  wall  itself,  planting  the  flag  where  the  men 
made  that  brief,  splendid  stand,  and  melted  away  like  snow 
before  furnace  heat.  Here  a  bayonet  thrust  met  him  and 
brought  him  down,  a  great  wound  in  his  brave  breast,  but 
he  did  not  yield ;  dropping  to  his  knees,  pressing  his 
unbroken  arm  upon  the  gaping  wound  —  the  colors  still  flew, 
an  inspiration  to  the  men  about  him,  a  defiance  to  the  foe. 

At  last  when  the  shattered  ranks  fell  back,  sullenly  and 
slowly  retreating,  he  was  seen  painfully  working  his  way  down- 
ward, still  holding  aloft  the  flag,  bent  evidently  on  saving  it, 
and  saving  it  as  flag  had  rarely,  if  ever,  been  saved  before. 

Slowly,  painfully  he  dragged  himself  onward  —  step  by 
step  down  the  hill,  inch  by  inch  across  the  ground — to  the 
door  of  the  hospital ;  and  then,  while  dying  eyes  brightened, 
while  dying  men  held  back  their  souls  from  the  eternities  to 
cheer  him,  gasped  out  :  "  I  did  —  but  do  —  my  duty,  boys, 
—  and  the  dear  —  old  flag  —  never  once  —  touched  the 
ground  "  -  and  then,  away  from  the  reach  and  sight  of  its 
foes,  in  the  midst  of  its  defenders  who  loved  and  were  dying 
for  it,  the  flag  at  last  fell. 

The  next  day  a  flag  of  truce  went  up  to  beg  the  body  of 
the  heroic  young  chief  who  had  so  led  that  marvelous 
assault.  It  came  back  without  him.  A  ditch,  deep  and 
wide,  had  been  dug ;  his  body  and  those  of  twenty-two  of 
his  men,  found  dead  upon  and  about  him,  flung  into  it  in 
one  common  heap  ;  and  the  word  sent  back  was  :  "  We 
have  buried  him  with  his  niggers." 

It  was  well  done.  Slavery  buried  these  men,  black  and 
white,  together,  —  black  and  white  in  a  common  grave.  Let 
Liberty  see  to  it,  then,  that  black  and  white  be  raised 
together  in  a  life  better  than  the  old. 


THE  GENERAL'S  CLIENT.  27 

THE   GENERAL'S    CLIENT. 

ADAPTED. 

IT  was  a  sultry  noon,  and  in  the  Jeffersonville  court- 
house a  murder  trial  was  in  progress.  The  prisoner,  a 
strongly  built  and  middle-aged  negro,  was  evidently  not  im- 
"  pressed  by  any  sense  of  peril,  though  already  a  clear  case 
of  murder  had  been  proved  against  him,  and  only  his  state- 
ment and  the  argument  remained.  No  testimony  had  been 
offered  for  the  prisoner.  A  man  had  been  stabbed;  had 
fallen  dead,  his  hands  clasped  over  the  wound.  From 
beneath  this  hand,  when  convulsively  opened,  a  knife  had 
fallen,  which  the  prisoner's  wife  seized  and  concealed.  So 
much  had  been  proved  by  the  state's  witnesses. 

The  prisoner  took  the  stand  to  make  his  statement.  He 
declared  that  he  had  killed  the  deceased  in  self-defense, 
that  the  knife  which  fell  from  the  relaxing  hand  was  the 
dead  man's.  He  told  the  story  simply  and  quietly;  and  as 
he  began  it  a  tall  thick-set  gentleman,  with  iron-gray  hair 
and  clad  in  a  gray  suit,  entered  the  room  and  stood  silently 
by  the  door.  As  the  prisoner  resumed  his  seat,  the  new- 
comer entered  within  the  rail  and  sat  down  near  him.  The 
solicitor  then  arose  and  stated  his  case  in  a  few  cold  words. 
This  man  had  stabbed  another  wantonly.  If  the  knife  was 
the  property  of  the  deceased,  why  was  it  not  produced  in 
court?  The  prisoner's  wife  had  picked  it  up.  He  passed 
the  case  to  the  jury,  and  the  judge  was  preparing  to  deliver 
his  charge  when  the  old  gentleman  in  gray,  rose  to  his  feet. 

"  If  it  please  your  Honor,"  he  said,  "  the  prisoner  is 
entitled  to  the  closing  argument,  and,  in  the  absence  of 
other  counsel,  I  beg  you  will  mark  my  name  for  the 
defense."  "  Mr.  Clerk,"  said  the  court,  "  mark  General 
Robert  Thomas  for  the  defense."  The  silence  was  abso- 


28  THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

lute;  the  jurymen  stirred  in  their  seats;  something  new  was 
coming.  Only  this  old  man,  grim,  gray,  and  majestically 
defiant,  stood  between  the  negro  and  the  grave.  Suddenly 
the  lips  of  the  general  opened,  and  he  said  with  quick  but 
quiet  energy  :  "  The  knife  that  was  found  by  the  dead 
man's  side  was  his  own.  He  had  drawn  it  before  he  was 
stabbed.  Ben  Thomas  is  a  brave  man,  a  strong  man;  he 
would  never  have  used  a  weapon  upon  him  unarmed.  A 
brave  man  who  is  full  of  strength  never  draws  a  weapon  to 
repel  a  simple  assault.  The  defendant  drew  when  he  saw 
a  knife  in  the  hand  of  his  foe,  not  from  fear,  but  to  equalize 
the  combat.  Why  do  I  say  he  was  brave?  Every  man 
upon  this  jury  shouldered  his  musket  during  the  war. 
Some  of  you  were  perhaps  at  Gettysburg;  I  was  there 
too."  A  murmur  of  applause  ran  round  the  room;  the  old 
man's  war  record  was  a  household  legend.  "  I  and  the 
only  brother  that  God  ever  gave  me.  I  well  remember  that 
fight.  The  enemy  met  our  charges  with  a  courage  and  a 
grit  that  could  not  be  shaken.  Line  after  line  melted  away 
during  those  days,  and  at  last  came  Pickett's  charge.  As 
that  magnificent  command  rushed  in,  a  negro  man,  a  cap- 
tain's body  servant,  stood  behind  it,  shading  his  eyes  with 
his  hands  and  waiting. 

"  You  know  the  result.  Out  of  that  vortex  of  flame  and 
that  storm  of  lead  and  iron  a  handful  drifted  back.  From 
one  to  another  this  man  of  black  skin  ran ;  then  turned  and 
followed  in  the  trail  of  the  charge.  On,  on  he  went,  gone 
one  moment  and  in  sight  the  next,  on,  up  to  the  flaming 
cannon  themselves.  Then,  there  he  stooped  and  lifted  a 
form  from  the  ground;  and  then,  stumbling,  staggering 
under  his  load,  made  his  way  back  across  that  field  of 
death,  until,  meeting  him  halfway,  I  took  the  burden  myself 
from  the  hero  and  bore  it  myself  to  safety.  That  burden 
was  the  senseless  form  of  my  brother  "  —here  he  paused, 


THE    GREATNESS    OF    OBEDIENCE.  2Q 

and  walked  rapidly  towards  the  prisoner,  his  arm  raised  on 
high,  his  voice  ringing  like  a  trumpet,  —  "  gashed  and  bleed- 
ing and  mangled,  but  alive,  thank  God!  And  the  man  who 
bore  him  out,  who  brought  him  to  me  in  his  arms  as  a 
mother  would  a  sick  child,  himself  torn  by  a  fragment  of  a 
shell  until  the  great  heart  was  almost  dropping  from  his 
breast,  that  man,  oh,  my  friends,  sits  under  my  hand.  See 
if  I  speak  not  the  truth." 

He  tore  open  the  prisoner's  shirt,  and  laid  bare  his  breast 
on  which  streamed  the  silent  splendors  of  the  afternoon 
sun;  a  great  ragged  scar  marked  it  from  left  to  right. 
"  Look,"  he  cried,  "  and  bless  the  sight,  for  that  scar  was 
won  by  a  slave  in  an  hour  that  tried  the  courage  of  free 
men  and  put  to  its  highest  test  the  best  manhood  of  the 
South.  No  man  who  wins  such  wounds  can  thrust  a  knife 
into  an  unarmed  assailant.  I  have  come  seventy  miles  in 
my  old  age  to  say  it." 

It  may  have  been  contrary  to  the  evidence,  but  the  jury 
without  leaving  their  seats  returned  a  verdict  of  "not  guilty  " ; 
and  the  solicitor,  who  bore  a  scar  on  his  face,  smiled  as  he 
received  it. 


THE  GREATNESS   OF   OBEDIENCE. 

F.  W.  FARRAR. 

OBEDIENCE,  —  the  true  school  of  empire,  —  has  two  appli- 
cations. In  the  narrower  sense  it  means  loyalty,  humility, 
modesty  of  character,  cheerful  submission  to  just  authority; 
in  its  wider  it  means  the  law  of  duty  cheerfully  accepted  as 
the  law  of  life.  Respect  for  authority  is  a  sacred  duty,  as 
it  is  also  a  divine  command.  Never  has  there  been  an  age 
where  that  command  has  been  violated  which  has  not  be- 


3O  THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

come  a  corrupt  age.  Never  a  country  where  it  was  neglected 
which  has  not  been  a  despicable  country.  In  loyalty,  in 
humility,  in  obedience  have  ever  rested  a  nation's  hopes. 
You  thirst  for  honor  —  you  do  well  ;  but  before  honor  is 
humility,  and  without  humility  there  can  be  no  true  obedience. 
And  this  is  the  rule  of  every  great  society,  as  it  is,  in 
truth,  the  rule  of  the  universe  of  God.  Wherein  lay  the 
sole  greatness  of  Sparta?  Was  it  not  revealed  on  that 
epitaph  over  the  Three  Hundred  at  Thermopylae : 

Go,  tell  the  Spartans,  them  that  passest  by, 
That  here  obedient  to  their  laws  we  lie  ! 

Wherein  lay  the  true  majesty  of  Rome?  Was  it  not  on  the 
solid  bases  of  filial  and  national  obedience  that  she  built 
the  magnificent  superstructure  of  universal  power?  If  you 
would  know  why  Rome  was  great,  consider  that  poor  Roman 
soldier  whose  armed  skeleton  was  found  in  a  recess  near 
the  gate  of  Pompeii.  When  on  that  guilty  little  city  burst 
the  sulphurous  storm  it  would  have  been  easy  for  him,  as 
for  so  many,  to  escape.  Why  did  he  not?  Because  to 
escape  would  have  been  to  abandon  his  post,  and  so  — 
the  unnamed  hero  —  rather  than  disobey,  just  dropped  the 
visor  of  his  helmet  and  stood  there  to  die.  And  need  I  go 
to  Greece  and  Rome?  Is  not  obedience  —  is  not  simple 
loyalty  to  simple  duty  —  the  basis  of  all  that  is  greatest  in 
England's  honor,  too?  Is  not  this  the  glory  of  Balaklava? 

Forward,  the  Light  Brigade  ! 
Take  the  guns,  Nolan  said ; 
Into  the  valley  of  Death 

Rode  the  six  hundred. 
Theirs  not  to  make  reply, 
Theirs  not  to  reason  why, 
Theirs  but  to  do  and  die. 
Into  the  valley  of  Death 

Rode  the  six  hundred. 


GUITEAU    THE    ASSASSIN.  31 

And  was  there  not  another  such  instance  at  the  wreck  of 
the  Birkenheadt  The  good  ship  had  crashed  at  sunset 
against  a  sunken  rock;  the  boats  were  too  few,  the  sea  was 
rushing  in ;  sharks  were  thrusting  their  horrible  black  fins 
through  the  white  breakers  of  the  boiling  surf ;  and  amid 
the  shrieks  of  women  and  children  some  one  clamored  that 
all  should  save  themselves  who  could.  Then,  clear  and 
loud,  rang  out  the  voice  of  the  good  colonel,  bidding  the 
men  to  their  ranks.  That  order  meant  nothing  less  than 
death  —  death  in  those  raging  waters  —  death  among  those 
savage  sharks  —  but  it  was  instantly  obeyed.  In  perfect 
order  the  boats  were  pushed  from  the  shattered  vessel,  row- 
ing the  women  and  children  to  the  shore,  while,  inch  by 
inch,  the  ship  sank  down  and  down,  but  still  under  stead- 
fast men,  till  the  last  great  wave  rolled  over  her,  and, 
"obedient  even  unto  death,"  brave  men  —  loyal  to  their 
chief,  loyal  to  England,  loyal  to  God  —  sank  to  their  noble 
burial  under  the  bloody  surf. 


GUITEAU  THE  ASSASSIN. 

JOHN  K.  PORTER. 

IN  the  Guiteau  trial,  Mr.  Porter,  commenting  on  Mr. 
Reed's  reference  to  Charlotte  Corday,  said  :  The  world  had 
lived  since  the  French  Revolution  in  ignorance  of  the  fact 
that  the  beautiful  Charlotte  Corday  was  insane.  It  was  left 
to  Mr.  Reed  to  announce  that  fact.  She  cannot  turn  in  her 
grave  to  belie  it,  but  there  are  some  of  us  who  know  some- 
thing of  the  history  of  that  wonderful  woman's  true  patriot- 
ism, which  led  to  an  assassination  that  was  justified  if  ever 
an  assassination  was  justified.  She  was  no  sneaking  coward. 


32  THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

She  left  the  house  in  which  she  was  reared  to  deliver  France, 
to  stay  the  hand  of  revolutionary  slaughter,  to  lay  her  own 
head  beneath  the  guillotine  in  order  to  save  the  effusion  of 
blood.  She  believed  it  her  duty  to  the  France  she  loved, 
and  she  made  her  way  to  her  heroic  deed  with  deliberate 
preparation,  sane  in  mind  and  devoted  in  purpose.  She 
succeeded  in  getting  access  to  the  man  who  held  in  his  right 
hand  the  lives  of  millions  of  Frenchmen,  and  who,  by  jot- 
ting a  mark  of  blood  opposite  their  names,  could  hurry  them 
into  a  dismal,  dark  dungeon  from  which  there  was  no  escape 
except  through  the  guillotine.  She  insane  ?  She  who,  when 
called  to  execution,  rose  from  her  knees  with  a  crucifix 
clasped  to  her  breast  ?  Forsooth,  Mr.  Reed  would  place 
this  murderer  by  the  side  of  the  girl  who  gave  her  life  that 
others  might  live. 

Another  case  is  that  of  John  Wilkes  Booth.  Still,  for  him 
there  were  circumstances  which  tended  to  mitigate  in  some 
degree  the  horror  we  feel  at  his  crime.  He  had  an  idea  of 
patriotism,  and  became  infatuated — not  insanely,  but  wildly 
—  with  the  idea  that  if  he  did  the  act  he  would  render  a 
service  to  his  portion  of  the  country. 

But  what  is  this  case  ?  Are  there  any  of  the  mitigating 
circumstances  that  attach  themselves  even  to  the  memory  of 
the  murder  of  Lincoln  ?  No.  True,  Booth  shot  from 
behind.  But,  feeling  that  he  might  be  justified  by  his  coun- 
trymen, he  leaped  upon  the  stage,  mounted  his  horse,  and 
rode  for  life  or  for  death.  He  rode  to  death,  and  within  the 
blazing  flames  of  the  building  in  which  he  was  penned  —  as 
God  pens  all  murderers  —  he  still  presented  the  lion  front 
of  a'brave  man,  and,  although  crippled  in  body,  he  died  like 
a  stag  at  bay. 

But  this  man,  this  coward,  this  cold-blooded  murderer  who 
prepared  death  for  his  victim  and  safety  for  himself,  would 
you  compare  him  to  Wilkes  Booth  ? 


THE    HEROISM    OF    HORATIO    NELSON.  33 

Gentlemen  of  the  jury,  so  discharge  your  duty  that  by 
your  action  at  least,  political  assassination  shall  find  no  sanc- 
tion to  make  it  a  precedent  hereafter.  He  who  has  ordained 
that  human  life  shall  be  shielded  from  human  crime  by 
human  law,  presides  over  your  deliberation ;  and  the  verdict 
which  shall  be  given  or  withheld  to-day  will  be  recorded 
where  we  all  have  to  appear. 


THE  HEROISM   OF  HORATIO  NELSON. 

FRANK  V.  MILLS. 

THERE  is  a  difference  worth  while  to  note  between  the 
man  of  heroic  deeds  and  the  man  of  heroic  life.  The  one 
may  be  an  Alcibiades,  a  Mark  Antony,  nay  —  a  Benedict 
Arnold.  But  the  other  is  one  whom  all  the  ages  hail  as 
hero.  Such  a  hero  was  Horatio  Nelson. 

When,  at  his  burial,  his  flag  was  about  to  be  lowered  into 
his  grave,  the  sailors  who  knew  him  as  but  few  commanders 
have  ever  been  known ;  who  had  seen  him  at  Tenerife  peril- 
ing his  own  life  to  save  his  perishing  men,  and  refusing  to 
be  taken  into  their  ship  lest  his  wounds  should  dishearten 
the  crew ;  who  had  heard  him  say  to  the  surgeon  rushing  to 
his  aid  as  he  lay  wounded  at  the  Battle  of  the  Nile  :  "  No, 
no.  I  '11  take  my  chances  with  my  brave  fellows  "  -  these 
sailors  caught  the  flag  before  it  touched  the  grave,  and  tore 
it  into  fragments,  so  that  each  man  might  have  a  relic  of 
him  whom  the  gunner  of  the  Victory  had  called  their  saint 
as  well  as  their  hero. 

The  lost  child  sitting  by  the  brookside,  and  to  the  anxious 
inquiry  if  he  felt  no  fear,  replying  :  "  Fear  ?  I  never  knew 
fear.  What  is  it  ?  "  and  the  officer  who,  to  save  his  ship  and 


34  THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

crew,  boldly  pushed  his  boat  through  the  surf  lashed  to  fury 
by  the  gale  is  but  the  boy  become  a  man. 

In  the  Battle  of  Copenhagen  Nelson  showed  the  unchange- 
able will  essential  to  the  true  hero.  Before  attacking  the 
enemy,  he  was  compelled  for  days  and  nights  to  buoy  the 
intricate  channel  leading  to  the  chosen  position.  At  last 
the  signal  was  given  to  advance,  and  the  whole  force  joy- 
fully sprang  to  their  posts.  Nelson,  with  quick  and  vigor- 
ous steps,  paces  the  deck.  The  struggle  begins,  his  face  is 
all  aglow,  his  eyes  flash,  and  he  sports  with  death  as 
Scaevola  of  old  sported  with  the  flames.  As  the  commander- 
in-chief,  seeing  the  terrible  odds  against  which  the  English 
battled,  raised  the  signal  for  retreat,  Nelson  laughingly 
placed  the  glass  to  his  sightless  eye  and  exclaimed  :  "  I  see 
no  signal  !  "  But  he  saw  his  country's  honor  in  peril  and 
the  object  of  the  expedition  about  to  be  lost ;  and,  although 
to  disobey  the  signal  meant  death  if  unsuccessful,  he  cried 
out :  "  Keep  mine  for  close  battle  flying ;  nail  it  to  the 
mast  !  "  That  order  saved  the  day,  and  gave  to  England 
the  supremacy  of  the  northern  seas,  and  to  Nelson  a  place 
among  England's  nobility. 

His  life  closed  with  a  befitting  death  at  the  post  of  duty. 
For  two  years  he  had  sought  to  engage  the  French  squadron 
in  battle.  But  on  the  morning  of  October  19,  1805,  an  English 
ship,  with  all  her  sails  set  and  with  cannon  booming,  bears 
down  upon  the  fleet  with  the  joyful  news  that  the  enemy  is 
getting  under  way.  With  a  cheer  the  men  spring  to  the  rig- 
ging, and  quickly  the  fleet  is  in  pursuit.  For  two  days  they 
eagerly  follow,  led  by  the  guns  and  rockets  of  the  ships  in 
advance,  until,  on  the  morning  of  the  2ist,  the  enemy's  fleet 
appears  in  battle  array  off  Cape  Trafalgar. 

The  signal  to  form  line  and  prepare  for  action  is  given. 
Suddenly  from  the  Victory's  maintop,  by  order  of  Nelson, 
floats  the  signal  :  "  England  expects  every  man  to  do  his 


THE    HISTORIC    CODFISH.  35 

duty."  The  enthusiasm  knows  no  bounds  ;  cheer  after 
cheer  rends  the  air  until  the  very  sea  reechoes.  A  shot  is 
fired,  but  it  falls  harmless  into  the  water ;  another  and  another 
follow.  The  rigging  is  pierced.  The  Victory  is  almost  stopped 
in  her  course  by  the  enemy's  fire.  Every  timber  trembles, 
her  decks  are  already  strewn  with  the  dead  and  dying ; 
still  she  presses  towards  the  enemy's  center,  her  men  still 
bravely  waiting  the  order  to  engage.  It  comes  at  last, 
and  the  shouts  of  the  men  blend  with  the  roar  of  cannon. 
Broadside  follows  broadside  in  rapid  succession.  Still  the 
undaunted  admiral  urges  forward  his  men. 

He  has  scarcely  given  the  order  to  cease  firing  upon  the 
disabled  enemy  when  a  shot  from  her  mainmast  bears  him 
bleeding  to  the  deck.  "They  have  done  for  me  at  last,"  he 
said  as  he  was  carried  below.  But  as  news  came  to  him  of 
the  victory  the  eyes  of  the  dying  man  lit  up  with  joy,  and 
he  said:  "Now  I  am  satisfied.  Thank  God,  I  did  my 
duty."  And  as  the  roar  of  the  last  gun  died  away,  with  it 
passed  from  earth  the  heroic  soul  of  Horatio  Nelson. 


THE  HISTORIC   CODFISH. 

RICHARD  VV.  IRWIN. 

MR.  SPEAKER:  I  rise  to  ask  you  to  place  in  the  new 
House  of  Representatives,  as  it  was  in  the  old,  the  emblem 
of  the  codfish.  I  pray  that  we  who  put.it  in  its  new  posi- 
tion may  be  as  fervent  in  our  patriotism  and  love  of  liberty 
and  right,  as  brave  to  act,  and  as  willing  to  suffer  as  those 
who,  over  a  century  ago,  hung  it  high  in  yonder  hall. 

Is  it  plain  and  humble  ?  It  has  always  been  so  of 
emblems  that  tell  of  deeds  and  purposes  really  great. 


36  THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

Whence  came  the  word  "  Puritan  "  but  from  a  word  of 
derision,  adopted  afterwards  in  honor  and  pride  ?  Whence 
the  song  of  "  Yankee  Doodle,"  to  whose  tune  Burgoyne  laid 
down  his  arms  at  Saratoga  and  Cornwallis  at  Yorktown  ? 
What  song  but  that  of  "  John  Brown's  Body,"  born  on  the 
march  from  soldiers'  thought,  led  our  country  on  through 
the  long  and  flaming  way  to  the  freedom  of  the  slave  and  a 
nation's  regeneration  ?  The  rugged  bear  has  for  years  rep- 
resented the  strength  of  the  Russians.  The  symbol  of  the 
bee  told  of  the  great  Napoleon.  England's  chancellors  for 
hundreds  of  years  have  sat  upon  the  woolsack  in  front  of  the 
throne.  The  rose  and  the  simple  cross  of  St.  George  tell 
the  story  of  England's  morning  drumbeat.  It  was  under 
the  lilies  of  France  that  men  followed  the  plume  of  Navarre. 
In  all  ages  of  the  Church  the  brazen  serpent  has  been  the 
emblem  of  Christianity,  and  the  cross  upon  which  our 
Savior  suffered  has  been  the  symbol  under  and  before 
which  a  whole  world  worships. 

The  plain  codfish  has,  too,  its  own  story.  This  nation's 
proudest  glory  is  a  story  of  war  by  sea,  and  Massachusetts 
has  no  greater  honor  than  that  her  seamen  stood  upon  the 
ships  and  manned  the  frigates  by  which  those  memorable 
and  renowned  victories  were  won.  For  it  was  with  the 
fishermen  of  the  capes  and  banks  that  Paul  Jones  drove 
before  him,  like  petrels  before  the  storm,  the  captains  who 
fought  under  Nelson  at  Trafalgar.  It  was  these  seamen 
who  went  with  Decatur  up  the  harbor  of  Tripoli.  It  was 
our  own  Isaac  Hull  before  whose  flaming  guns  the  Guerriere 
went  down.  These  men  manned  the  guns  of  the  Constitu- 
tion and  the  President.  They  brought  back  the  dead  body 
of  Lawrence  up  yonder  harbor,  wrapped  in  his  country's 
flag;  and  in  a. war  which  else  had  ended  in  disaster  they 
taught  England  that  her  daughter  was  an  empress  of  the 
sea. 


THE    HISTORIC    CODFISH.  37 

Nor  was  their  patriotism  or  valor  confined  to  the  seas 
which  were  their  home.  The  little  fishing  town  of  Marble- 
head  alone  sent  a  whole  regiment  to  the  War  of  the  Revolu- 
tion ;  and  there  stands  upon  Commonwealth  Avenue  in  this 
great  city,  whose  wealth  came  largely  from  the  cod  fisheries, 
a  statue  telling  how  General  Glover  of  Marblehead  and  his 
men  carried  Washington  and  his  army  across  the  almost 
impassable  Delaware,  and  thus  saved  the  Continental  Army, 
its  immortal  leader,  and  its  glorious  cause.  They  were  men 
from  our  own  coast  and  harbors.  They  were  your  sons,  — 
Gloucester,  gray  Marblehead,  and  wind-scourged  Essex. 
Nay,  more,  they  were  your  sons,  O  proud  and  beautiful,  our 
mother  state. 

This  emblem  speaks  in  vibrant  tones  of  danger  met  and 
glorious  victories  won.  We  hear  the  yearly  uttered  cry  of 
sorrow  and  of  anguish  from  Marblehead  and  Gloucester, 
when  the  fleet  comes  back  bringing  its  pitiful  story  of  acci- 
dent and  death.  It  tells  us  of  the  remorseless  sea  that  kills 
and  buries  not  its  dead  ;  of  the  young  and  strong  that  are 
torn  from  life  by  crushing  ice  and  ravenous  waves  ;  of  the 
widow  and  her  clinging  orphans  set  face  to  face  with  poverty ; 
of  eyes  that  weep  uncomforted ;  of  hearts  that  break  and 
never  mend. 

For  over  a  century  that  symbol  has  hung  in  the  House 
of  Representatives,  —  for  over  a  century  in  which  Massa- 
chusetts has  won  her  proud  preeminence  among  the  states. 
It  saw  there  Lafayette,  Kossuth,  and  the  determined  and 
silent  Grant.  It  has  seen  most  of  our  governors  inaugurated 
with  formal  pomp  and  state.  It  heard  Webster,  Choate,  and 
Shaw,  as  they  discussed  the  constitution  of  the  common- 
wealth. It  heard  the  matchless  voice  of  Phillips  as  he 
pleaded  for  the  freedom  of  the  slave  and  demanded  the 
impeachment  of  the  unjust  judge.  It  may  have  heard 
Andrew  as  he  prayed  in  his  room  at  midnight  that  his 


38  THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

country  might  be  spared,  and  again,  after  the  sad  years,  in 
the  council  room  which  it  faces,  singing,  when  the  news 
came  that  Vicksburg  had  fallen  and  Gettysburg  was  won, 
the  old  doxology  of  thanksgiving.  It  has  heard  coming  up 
the  windows,  as  they  passed  by  the  State  House,  the  cheer- 
ing shouts,  the  playing  bands,  and  the  martial  tread  of 
marching  men,  as  Massachusetts  through  four  long  years 
sent  forth  her  chosen,  her  bravest,  and  her  tenderest  to  free- 
dom's war.  It  knew  when  Bartlett  of  Pittsfield  went  by  at 
the  head  of  his  regiment,  —  the  man  in  whom  Sidney  lived, 
fought,  and  died  again;  it  heard  the  solemn,  determined  step 
of  the  colored  regiment  which  Robert  Shaw  led  on,  in  hope- 
less charge,  to.  death  at  Fort  Wagner.  It  saw  the  Massa- 
chusetts dead  brought  tenderly  back  from  Baltimore,  the 
state's  first  sacrifice  upon  the  bloody  altar  of  war.  And 
then,  when  the  war  was  over  and  a  nation  builded  anew,  it 
saw  that  glad  home  coming  when  the  battle  flags  came  back; 
when  up  the  streets  and  past  the  cheering  thousands  and 
through  the  wide  gates  of  the  capitol  came  the  regiments, 
thin  and  shattered  and  wounded,  bearing  their  crimsoned 
flags  of  war,  and  moving  in  a  cloud  of  glory  which  time 
shall  never  dim. 

Let  us  take  this  emblem  in  reverence  and  honor  and 
place  it  on  high  as  one  of  the  proudest  decorations  of  this 
great  hall  ;  and  let  it  remain  there  so  long  as  this  State 
House  shall  stand,  a  memorial  of  the  Pilgrim,  his  privations, 
and  simplicity ;  an  emblem  significant  of  the  hardiness, 
courage,  and  faith  of  those  who  dare  and  defy  the  seas,  and 
daily  telling  of  the  great  and  surpassing  glories  of  Massa- 
chusetts and  her  sons. 


HOMES    OF    THE    PEOPLE.  39 

HOMES   OF   THE   PEOPLE. 

PARKE  GODWIN. 

WHEN  I  was  a  boy  I  read  a  book  which  was  called,  I 
think,  Asmodeus.  Although  I  have  quite  forgotten  its  con- 
tents, I  remember  the  author  represented  his  hero  as 
capable  of  taking  off  the  roofs  of  all  the  houses,  and  so 
exposing  the  goings  on  of  the  occupants.  The  object  of 
this  device  was  satirical.  It  was  that  he  might  picture  by 
the  contrast  within  and  without  the  pretension,  falsehood, 
selfishness,  and  hypocrisy  that  lurked  behind  the  fairest 
external  appearances. 

And  now  let  us  assume  this  Asmodean  power  of  taking 
off  the  roofs  of  the  houses  in  this  city,  for  the  sake  of  truth 
and  charity.  We  shall  show  you  as  we  lift  the  roofs  that 
700,000  persons,  or  nearly  half  the  population  of  New  York 
City,  are  huddled  together  in  lodgments  that  would  better 
suit  the  beasts  or  the  savages  than  civilized  human  beings. 

As  you  and  I  know  it,  the  home  is  the  resort  of  peace  and 
joy  and  love,  the  center  of  the  sweetest  and  tenderest  ties, 
diffusing  its  gentle  influence  outward  over  all  society.  By 
the  magic  of  its  charms,  it  sweetens  all  the  intercourse  of 
life  and  lifts  our  existence  to  the  very  precincts  of  the  court 
of  heaven.  But  are  these  rayless  holes  in  the  walls,  are  these 
musty  and  broken  garrets,  which  the  rains  and  winds  of  the 
welkin  pierce  but  cannot  cleanse,  are  these  to  be  called  our 
homes  ?  Alas !  They  are  the  only  homes  which  many  of  our 
people  ever  know.  They  are  the  places  where  intemperance 
is  nursed ;  where  crime  is  cradled ;  where  pale-eyed  famine 
and  flushed  fever  lodge  ;  where  the  instincts  of  innocent 
childhood  are  stifled  in  their  birth ;  where  modesty  of  girl- 
hood finds  no  sheltering  veil ;  where  the  sobs  and  sighs  of 
mothers  and  wives  go  out  in  despair,  —  while  around  them 


4O  THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

roar  the  curses  of  drunken  ribaldry  and  the  cries  of  brutal 
violence. 

Need  we  wonder  that  from  these  cold  and  repulsive  lairs, 
men  hurry  gladly  to  the  light  and  warmth  and  temporary 
oblivion  of  the  billiard  saloon  and  the  bar  room?  Need  we 
wonder  that  ever  and  anon  we  read  in  our  journals  of  those 
"  God's  loveliest  temples  "  turned  to  ruin,  whom, 

The  bleak  wind  of  March 

Made  her  tremble  and  shiver, 
But  not  the  black  arch, 

Or  the  deep,  flowing  river. 
And  who : 

Mad  from  life's  history, 
Glad  to  death's  mystery 
Swift  to  be  hurled ; 
Anywhere,  anywhere 
Out  of  the  world. 

As  out  of  the  heart  are  the  issues  of  individual  life,  so 
out  of  the  home  are  the  issues  of  social  life.  The  home  is 
an  instrument  of  good  or  ill,  mightier  than  the  school  or 
the  press  or  the  pulpit.  You  have  your  public  schools, 
maintained  at  great  expense  of  money  and  care,  but  you 
have  also  more  powerful  private  schools,  which  unlearn 
what  you  teach  and  undo  what  you  do.  Nearly  three  hun- 
dred spires  are  rising  from  the  bosom  of  our  city  to  point, 
like  finger  posts,  the  way  to  the  skies ;  and  in  the  stately 
structures  they  crown,  three  hundred  eloquent  voices  every 
week  ring  out  the  words  of  wisdom  and  truth,  but  do  those 
voices  penetrate  the  bank  of  cloud  that  settles  over  the 
slums?  Indeed,  could  the  seed  be  sown  in  such  soils,  would 
it  spring  up  in  fruits  and  flowers  and  all  lovely  verdure,  or 
in  prickly  brambles  and  choking  weeds? 

My  friends,  you  will  return  from  this  place  to  comfortable 
homes.  As  you  enter  a  genial  warmth  will  compensate  the 
rigors  of  the  weather,  and  perhaps  a  crackling  fire  upon 


JEAN    VALJEAN  S    SACRIFICE.  4! 

the  hearth  will  glow  and  smile  its  welcome.  From  the  walls 
delicious  landscapes,  which  the  delicate  fingers  of  art  have 
transferred  from  every  clime,  will  flash  their  springs  and 
summers  across  the  winter's  cold.  But,  oh  !  then  remember 
that  thousands  like  you  have  gone  home  to-night  but  to 
suffering  and  darkness;  to  gloomy  and  grimy  chambers ;  to 
children  stricken  with  disease,  or  to  hear  of  a  brother's  ruin 
or  a  sister's  shame,  or  to  start  at  a  father's  late  returning 
tread,  not  with  eager  joy,  but  a  shudder  of  fear.  And  re- 
member that  what  these  are  you,  under  other  environ- 
ments, might  have  been,  and  what  you  are  they,  under 
other  environments,  might  have  become. 


JEAN   VALJEAN'S    SACRIFICE. 

VICTOR  HUGO. 

JEAN  VALJEAN,  whose  soul  the  good  bishop  had  bought 
from  evil  and  given  to  God,  had  kept  his  word.  He  had 
become  a  good  man,  a  man  with  another  but  an  honored 
name,  a  man  of  wealth  and  of  noble  deeds ;  yes,  he  was 
even  a  mayor,  so  far  had  he  escaped  from  his  old  life  of  the 
convict,  the  galley  slave. 

But  now  another  man  had  been  mistaken  for  himself,  his 
old  self,  —  for  Jean  Valjean.  And  so,  as  Victor  Hugo  tells 
us,  Jean  Valjean  soliloquizes  : 

"  What  if  I  denounce  myself?  I  am  arrested;  this  man 
is  released;  I  am  put  back  in  the  galleys;  that  is  well  — 
and  what  then?  What  is  going  on  here?  Ah!  here  is  a 
country,  a  town ;  here  are  factories,  an  industry,  workers, 
both  men  and  women,  aged  grandsires,  children,  poor  peo- 
ple !  All  this  I  have  created ;  all  these  I  provide  with  their 


42  THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

living.  Everywhere  where  there  is  a  smoking  chimney  it 
is  I  who  have  placed  the  brand  on  the  hearth  and  meat  in 
the  pot.  I  have  created  ease,  circulation,  credit;  before 
me  there  was  nothing.  I  have  elevated,  vivified,  informed 
with  life,  stimulated,  enriched  the  whole  country-side ;  lack- 
ing me,  the  soul  is  lacking ;  I  take  myself  off,  everything 
dies. 

"  Well,  this  man  is  going  to  the  galleys;  it  is  true, 'but 
has  he  not  stolen?  There  is  no  use  in  my  saying  that  he 
has  not  been  guilty  of  theft,  for  he  has  !  I  remain  here  ;  I 
go  on ;  in  ten  years  I  shall  have  made  ten  millions.  It  is 
not  for  myself  that  I  am  doing  it;  industries  are  aroused 
and  animated ;  factories  and  shops  are  multiplied ;  fami- 
lies, a  hundred  families,  a  thousand  families,  are  happy; 
wretchedness  disappears,  and  with  wretchedness  debauchery, 
prostitution,  theft,  murder;  all  vices  disappear,  all  crimes. 
Ah  !  I  was  a  fool !  I  was  absurd !  Yes,  he  thought,  this 
is  right;  I  am  on  the  right  road;  I  have  the  solution;  let 
things  take  their  course;  this  is  for  the  interest  of  all,  not 
for  my  own.  I  am  Madeleine,  and  Madeleine  I  remain. 
Woe  to  the  man  who  is  Jean  Valjean!  I  am  no  longer  he." 

.He  proceeded  a  few  paces  further;  then  he  stopped  short. 

"  Come !  "  he  said,  "  I  must  not  flinch  before  any  of  the 
consequences  of  the  resolution  which  I  have  once  adopted  ; 
there  are  still  threads  which  attach  me  to  that  Jean  Valjean; 
they  must  be  broken." 

He  fumbled  in  his  pocket,  drew  out  his  purse,  opened  it, 
and  took  out  a  small  key.  A  secret  receptacle  opened,  a 
sort  of  false  cupboard  constructed  in  the  angle  between  the 
wall  and  the  chimney-piece.  In  this  hiding  place  there  were 
some  rags,  —  a  blue  linen  blouse,  an  old  pair  of  trousers,  — 
an  old  knapsack,  and  a  huge  thorn  cudgel  shod  with  iron  at 
both  ends.  Those  who  had  seen  Jean  Valjean  in  October, 
1815,  could  easily  have  recognized  all  the  pieces  in  this 


JEAN    VALJEAN  S    SACRIFICE.  43 

miserable  outfit.  He  had  preserved  them  as  he  had  pre- 
served the  silver  candlesticks,  in  order  to  remind  himself 
continually  of  his  starting-point. 

After  the  lapse  of  a  few  seconds,  the  room  and  the  oppo- 
site wall  were  lighted  up  with  a  fierce,  red,  tremulous  glow. 
Everything  was  on  fire ;  the  thorn  cudgel  snapped  and 
threw  out  sparks  to  the  middle  of  the  chamber.  He  did 
not  look  at  the  fire,  but  paced  back  and  forth  with  the  same 
step.  All  at  once  his  eye  fell  on  the  two  silver  candlesticks, 
which  shone  vaguely  on  the  chimney-piece  through  the  glow. 

"Hold!"  he  thought;  "the  whole  of  Jean  Valjean  is 
still  in  them.  They  must  be  destroyed  also." 

He  stirred  the  live  coals  with  one  of  the  candlesticks. 

A  minute  more,  and  they  were  both  in  the  fire. 

At  that  moment  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  heard  a  voice 
within  him  shouting:  "  Jean  Valjean!  Jean  Valjean!  " 

His  hair  rose  upright ;  he  became  like  a  man  who  is  lis- 
tening to  some  terrible  thing. 

"  Yes,  that 's  it !  finish  !  "  said  the  voice.  "  Complete 
what  you  are  about !  Destroy  these  candlesticks  !  Anni- 
hilate this  souvenir !  Forget  the  bishop !  Forget  every- 
thing !  That  is  good !  Be  an  honest  man  yourself ;  remain 
Monsieur  le  Maire  ;  remain  honorable  and  honored ;  enrich 
the  town;  nourish  the  indigent;  rear  the  orphan;  live 
happy,  virtuous,  and  admired ;  and  during  this  time,  while 
you  are  here  in  the  midst  of  joy  and  light,  there  will  be  a 
man  who  will  wear  your  red  blouse,  who  will  bear  your 
name  in  ignominy,  and  who  will  drag  your  chain  in  the 
galleys.  Yes,  it  is  well  arranged  thus.  Ah,  wretch !  Jean 
Valjean,  there  will  be  around  you  many  voices,  which  will 
make  a  great  noise,  which  will  talk  very  loud,  and  which 
will  bless  you,  and  only  one  which  no  one  will  hear,  and 
which  will  curse  you  in  the  dark.  Well!  listen,  infamous 
man!  All  these  benedictions  will  fall  back  before  they 


44  THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

reach  heaven,  and  only  the  malediction  will  ascend  to 
God." 

He  now  recoiled  in  equal  terror  before  both  the  resolu- 
tions at  which  he  had  arrived  in  turn.  There  was  a  moment 
when  he  reflected  on  the  future.  Denounce  himself,  great 
God!  Deliver  himself  up!  With  immense  despair  he 
faced  all  that  he  should  be  obliged  to  leave,  all  that  he 
should  be  obliged  to  take  up  once  more.  He  should  have 
to  bid  farewell  to  that  existence  which  was  so  good,  so  pure, 
so  radiant,  to  the  respect  of  all,  to  honor,  to  liberty.  He 
should  never  more  stroll  in  the  fields;  he  should  never 
more  hear  the  birds  sing  in  the  month  of  May  ;  he  should 
never  more  bestow  alms  on  the  little  children.  Great  God! 
instead  of  that,  the  convict  gang,  the  iron  necklet,  the  red 
waistcoat,  the  chain  on  his  ankle,  fatigue,  the  cell,  the  camp 
bed,  —  all  those  horrors  which  he  knew  so  well !  If  he  were 
only  young  again!  but  to  be  addressed  in  his  old  age  as 
"thou"  by  any  one  who  pleased;  to  be  searched  by  the 
convict  guard;  to  receive  the  galley  sergeant's  cudgellings; 
to  wear  iron-bound  shoes  on  his  bare  feet ;  to  have  to 
stretch  out  his  leg  night  and  morning  to  the  hammer  of  the 
roundsman  who  visits  the  gang;  to  submit  to  the  curiosity 
of  strangers,  who  would  be  told :  "  That  man  yonder  is  the 
famous  Jean  Valjean."  Oh,  what  misery  !  Can  destiny, 
then,  be  as  malicious  as  an  intelligent  being,  and  become 
as  monstrous  as  the  human  heart? 

And,  do  what  he  would,  he  always  fell  back  upon  the 
heart-rending  dilemma  which  lay  at  the  foundation  of  his 
revery:  "  Should  he  remain  in  paradise  and  become  a 
demon?  Should  he  return  to  hell  and  become  an  angel?  " 
Ought  he  to  denounce  himself?  Ought  he  to  hold  his 
peace?  He  only  felt  that,  to  whatever  course  of  action  he 
made  up  his  mind,  something  in  him  must  die ;  that  he  was 
entering  a  sepulchre  on  the  right  hand  as  much  as  on  the 


JOHN    BROWN    OF    OSAWATOMIE.  45 

left ;  that  he   was   passing   through   a  death    agony,  —  the 
agony  of  his  happiness  or  the  agony  of  his  virtue. 

Thus  did  this  unhappy  soul  struggle  in  its  anguish. 
Eighteen  hundred  years  before  this  unfortunate  man,  the 
mysterious  Being  in  whom  are  summed  up  all  the  sanctities 
and  all  the  sufferings  of  humanity  had  also  long  thrust  aside 
with  his  hand,  while  the  olive  trees  quivered  in  the  wild 
wind  of  the  infinite,  the  terrible  cup  which  appeared  to  Him 
dripping  with  darkness  and  overflowing  with  shadows  in  the 
depths  all  studded  with  stars. 


JOHN   BROWN  OF  OSAWATOMIE. 

(Anonymous.) 

THE  heroism  and  perfection  of  John  Brown's  life  and 
character  quickened  the  cold  lips  of  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson 
into  words  of  praise  like  these  :  "  His  death  has  made  the 
gallows  glorious  like  the  crown."  He  was  great  in  the  gran- 
deur of  that  mission  which  he  accepted  as  his  life  work,  and 
Christlike  in  dying  for  those  whom  he  sought  to  save. 

The  woes  of  the  dusky  children  of  the  South  sank  deep 
into  his  heart.  But  when  the  Kansas-Nebraska  Act  was 
repealed,  then  the  waters  of  the  great  deep  in  John  Brown's 
rugged  nature  were  broken  up.  Could  he  stand  idly  by 
while  the  pledges  of  years  were  unblushingly  broken  in 
Kansas,  —  while  pro-slavery  rolled  up  her  majorities  at  elec- 
tions by  fraud  and  force  ?  Could  he,  John  Brown,  that 
grand  defender  of  human  rights,  be  party  to  the  filching  of 
Kansas  ?  No,  never  !  It  was  the  crowning  act  of  a  half 
century  of  domineering  that  awoke  in  his  breast  that  terri- 
ble resistance  which  never  after  rested  nor  slept.  When  we 


46  THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

read  of  the  Battle  of  Osawatomie,  we  begin  to  realize  that 
even  in  these  latter  days,  with  God  and  right  on  his  side, 
one  man  can  chase  a  thousand  and  two  put  ten  thousand 
to  flight. 

The  purpose  of  John  Brown  to  invade  the  South  was  not 
executed  until  his  sons  arrived  at  manhood.  There  were 
not  men  enough  in  all  the  North  to  make  that  crusade  with 
him.  He  had  to  rear  them  up.  But  now  that  his  sons  were 
grown,  hopefully,  resolutely,  prayerfully  he  went  about  his 
work.  Gathering  all  his  energies,  he  struck  one  brave  blow 
and  —  failed.  Failed  !  Oh,  that  more  such  failures  were 
scattered  along  the  shores  of  American  history.  Battle  of 
Harper's  Ferry  !  Sublime  spectacle  !  On  the  one  hand 
the  united  host  of  slavery.  On  the  other,  old  John  Brown 
with  four  sons  and  a  score  of  devoted  followers. 

Though  he  fought  with  the  energy  of  Cceur  de  Lion,  yet 
he  failed.  But  if  his  Kansas  struggle  ended  in  defeat,  his 
invasion  of  Virginia  was  a  triumph.  You  saw  him  in  Kan- 
sas where  he  went  to  purify  the  temple  ;  now  see  him  in 
Virginia,  writing  on  the  Great  Natural  Bridge  :  "  Resistance 
to  tyrants  is  obedience  to  God."  See  him  on  the  floor  of 
the  engine  house,  mangled  and  torn,  lying  in  his  blood  for 
thirty  hours,  questioned  by  politicians,  insulted  by  the  mob. 
Now  see  him  as  he  marches  forth  to  die.  The  mightiest 
sermon  of  his  life  he  preached  on  that  triumphal  journey. 

You  remember  the  lines  : 

John  Brown  of  Osawatomie,  they  led  him  out  to  die, 

When  lo,  a  poor  slave  mother  with  her  little  child  crept  nigh  ; 

Then  the  bold  blue  eyes  grew  tender  and  the  old  harsh  face  grew  mild, 

As  he  stooped  amid  the  jeering  crowd,  and  kissed  the  negro  child. 

With  a  countenance  transfigured  by  the  "  peace  of  God," 
he  ascends  the  scaffold  and  exchanges  a  "  felon's  cap  "  for 
the  "  Crown  of  Righteousness." 


JOHN    A.    LOGAN.  47 

JOHN  A.  LOGAN. 

GEORGE  R.  PECK. 

ILLINOIS  is  proud  and  happy.  Waiting  patiently  for  a 
fitting  time,  she  opens  all  her  welcoming  gates  and  bids  the 
world  take  note  what  breed  of  men  she  rears.  Here  is  the 
product  of  her  soil,  and  here  she  brings  a  mother's  exultant 
heart  to  be  enshrined.  Some  are  here  to  whom  it  seems 
but  yesterday.  They  remember  the  clustering  pines,  the 
thickets,  dark  with  the  foliage  of  July,  the  spires  of  Atlanta 
wooing  them  forward  yet  a  little  further,  and  they  remember, 
too,  as  they  will  remember  always,  the  message,  speeding 
like  an  arrow  in  its  flight,  that  told  how  McPherson  lay  dead 
in  his  harness  ere  yet  his  fame  had  passed  its  dawn.  On 
that  day,  —  July  22,  1864, — John  A.  Logan  was  born  to 
immortality.  Here  we  place  his  image  for  all  generations. 
Here  we  salute  the  soldier,  the  statesman,  and  the  man,  in 
memory  of  that  sublime  moment  when  he  took  into  his 
keeping  the  flag,  the  issue,  and  the  cause. 

The  soldier  in  battle  does  not  conspicuously  arrange  dra- 
matic situations.  When  John  A.  Logan,  summoned  by 
destiny,  rode,  sabered  and  spurred,  along  those  bleeding 
lines,  beautiful  in  the  deep  sense  that  makes  the  heroic 
always  beautiful,  he  little  thought  of  the  banners  that  wave 
for  him  to-day.  That  day  at  Atlanta  had  none  of  the 
romantic  surroundings  which  give  artificial  renown  to  battle- 
fields. No  pyramids,  hiding  the  grim  secrets  of  the  cen- 
turies, looked  down  upon  them.  It  was  not  Lodi,  where  a 
general  could  dash  across  a  bridge  to  victory.  There  were 
no  narrow  paths  to  glory.  It  was  breast-to-breast  fighting, 
such  as  seldom  comes  in  any  war,  —  a  confused  mass  strug- 
gling against  an  enemy  that  was  everywhere.  And  in  the 
midst  of  them  was  Logan,  chief — not  because  of  his 


48  THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

epaulets,  but  because  the  command  had  fallen  on  one  who 
knew  what  to  do  and  could  not  breathe  until  it  was  done. 

He  is  past  all  flattery.  Shall  we  call  him  brave  ?  Others 
have  worn  that  crimson  badge.  Great  men  become  types. 
The  people  single  them  out  with  the  ready  common  sense 
which  belongs  to  no  man  but  to  all  men.  Logan  is  our 
great  volunteer.  So  they  have  named  him,  and  so  will  he 
be  known  when  we  are  forgotten.  Whatever  is  heroic  they 
can  make  classic.  In  calling  him  the  great  volunteer  we 
have,  unwittingly,  done  injustice  to  Logan.  He  was  not  a 
mere  fighter.  He  had  a  rare  genius  for  leadership.  Ask 
those  who  served  with  him,  and  they  will  answer :  "  Men 
whom  Logan  led  never  turned  back."  Only  a  comprehen- 
sive mind  can  take  events  as  they  come  and  mould  them  to 
its  will  as  if  they  had  been  ordered  in  advance.  Regiment, 
brigade,  division,  corps,  army,  —  these  are  the  steps  he  took. 

He,  more  than  any  other,  created  the  Grand  Army  of  the 
Republic,  that  organization  which  makes  us  remember  what 
we  are  prone  to  forget.  Here  his  form  will  sleep  forever, 
guarded  by  them  and  by  those  who  follow  them.  I  greet 
you,  comrades,  in  memory  of  our  great  commander,  and  in 
memory  of  the  old  days  and  the  old  cause.  It  was  he  who 
gaye  us  the  sweet  observance  of  Memorial  Day.  Only  a 
poet  could  have  thought  it ;  only  a  poet  could  have  made  it 
come  true.  It  is  above  all  others  our  best-loved  holiday, 
our  festival  of  memory,  love,  and  beauty.  We  shall  keep  it 
forever,  with  all  the  flowers  that  grow  upon  the  prairies  and 
in  the  gardens  of  Illinois.  And  there  will  be  tears. 

Men  of  the  South,  the  Grand  Army  welcomes  you,  the 
Loyal  Legion  welcomes  you,  Illinois  welcomes  you,  and  the 
nation  greets  you  with  an  open  hand.  Brave  men  cannot 
hate  you  forever.  If  we  conquered  you  once,  you  have,  in 
a  beautiful  sense,  conquered  us  to-day,  when  you  mingle 
your  love  with  ours  for  the  heroic,  for  the  patriotic,  and  — 


KNIGHTS    OF    LABOR.  49 

surely  I  may  say  it  —  for  the  flag  which  has  been  saved  for 
us  all.  Here  we  make  a  sacred  place.  Here  we  consecrate 
a  name  already  consecrated  in  our  bravest  annals.  We  give 
the  statue  to  the  world,  in  the  presence  of  the  wife  he  loved 
and  honored,  and  whom  we  love  and  honor.  His  children 
and  his  children's  children  are  here  to  learn  how  great  a 
name  they  bear.  He  is  not  ours  alone ;  but  yet  we  claim 
him.  In  coming  years  the  throngs  that  crowd  the  avenue 
will  see  a  silent  figure  always  on  duty.  They  will  know — 
and  all  the  world  will  know  —  it  is  Logan.  Illinois  has 
kept  her  trust. 


KNIGHTS   OF  LABOR. 

T.   V.    POWDERLY. 

WE  are  Knights  of  Labor  because  we  believe  that  law 
and  order  should  prevail,  and  that  both  should  be  founded 
in  equity.  We  are  Knights  of  Labor  because  we  believe 
that  the  thief  who  steals  a  dollar  is  no  worse  than  the  thief 
who  steals  a  railroad.  To  remedy  the  evils  we  complain  of 
is  a  difficult  and  dangerous  undertaking.  The  need  of 
strong  hearts  and  active  brains  was  never  so  great  as  at  the 
present  time.  The  slavery  that  died  twenty-two  years  ago 
was  terrible,  but  the  lash  in  the  hands  of  the  old-time  slave 
owner  could  strike  but  one  back  at  a  time,  and  but  one  of 
God's  poor,  suffering  children  felt  the  stroke.  The  lash  of 
gold  in  the  hands  of  the  new  slave  owner  falls  not  upon  one 
slave  alone,  but  upon  the  backs  of  millions,  and  among  the 
writhing,  tortured  victims,  side  by  side  with  the  poor  and 
the  ignorant,  are  to  be  found  the  well-to-do  and  the  educated. 

The  power  of  the  new  slave  owner  does  not  end  when  the 
ordinary  day  laborer  bends  beneath  his  rule  ;  it  reaches  out 


OF  - 


50  THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

still  further,  and  controls  the  mechanic,  the  farmer,  the  mer- 
chant, and  the  manufacturer.  It  dictates  not  alone  what 
the  price  of  labor  shall  be,  but  regulates  the  price  of  money 
as  well.  Do  I  overestimate  its  power?  Have  I  made  a 
single  misstatement  ?  If  my  word  is  not  sufficient,  turn  to 
the  pages  of  the  history  of  to-day, —  the  public  press,  —  and 
you  will  find  the  testimony  to  prove  that  what  I  have  said  is 
true.  The  lash  was  stricken  from  the  hand  of  the  slave 
owner  of  twenty-five  years  ago,  and  it  must  be  taken  from 
the  hand  of  the  new  slave  owner  as  well.  The  monopolist 
of  to-day  is  more  dangerous  than  the  slave  owner  of  the 
past.  Monopoly  takes  the  land  from  the  people  in  million- 
acre  plots;  it  sends  its  agents  abroad,  and  brings  hordes  of 
uneducated,  desperate  men  to  this  country;  it  imports  igno- 
rance, and  scatters  it  broadcast  throughout  the  land.  While 
I  condemn  and  denounce  the  deeds  of  violence  committed 
in  the  name  of  labor  during  the  present  year,  I  am  proud  to 
say  that  the  Knights  of  Labor,  as  an  organization,  is  not  in 
any  way  responsible  for  such  conduct.  He  is  the  true 
Knight  of  Labor  who  with  one  hand  clutches  anarchy  by  the 
throat  and  with  the  other  strangles  monopoly. 

The  man  who  still  believes  in  the  "  little  red  schoolhouse 
on  the  hill  "  should  take  one  holiday  and  visit  the  mine,  the 
factory,  the  coal  breaker,  and  the  mill.  There,  doing  the 
work  of  men,  he  will  find  the  future  citizens  of  the  Republic, 
breathing  an  atmosphere  of  dust,  ignorance,  and  vice  !  The 
history  of  our  country  is  not  taught  within  these  walls. 
The  struggle  for  independence  and  causes  leading  to  that 
struggle  are  not  spoken  of  there ;  the  name  of  Washington 
is  unknown,  and  the  words  that  rang  out  trumpet-tongued 
from  the  lips  of  Patrick  Henry  are  never  mentioned.  The 
little  red  schoolhouse  must  fail  to  do  its  work  properly,  since 
the  children  of  the  poor  must  pass  it  by  on  the  road  to  the 
workshop.  How  can  they  appreciate  the  duties  of  citizen- 


KNIGHTS    OF    LABOR.  5! 

ship  when  we  do  not  take  the  trouble  to  teach  them  that  to 
be  an  American  citizen  is  greater  than  to  be  a  king,  and 
that  he  upon  whom  the  mantle  of  citizenship  is  bestowed 
should  part  with  his  life  before  surrendering  one  jot  or  tittle 
of  the  rights  and  liberties  which  belong  to  him. 

Turn  away  from  these  hives  of  industry,  stand  for  a 
moment  on  a  street  corner,  and  you  will  see  gayly  capari- 
soned horses  driven  by  a  coachman  in  livery;  a  footman 
occupying  his  place  at  the  rear  of  the  coach  is  also  dressed 
in  the  garb  of  the  serf.  On  the  coach  door  you  will  find 
the  crest  or  coat  of  arms  of  the  illustrious  family  to  whom  it 
belongs.  If  you  speak  to  the  occupant  of  the  coach  con- 
cerning our  country,  her  institutions,  or  her  flag,  you  will  be 
told  that  they  do  not  compare  with  those  of  foreign  coun- 
tries. The  child  who  graduates  from  the  workshop  dons  the 
livery  of  a  slave,  covers  his  manhood,  and  climbs  to  the 
footman's  place  on  the  outside  of  the  coach.  The  man  who 
apes  the  manners  and  customs  of  foreign  noblemen  occupies 
the  inside.  The  one  who  with  strong  heart  and  willing 
hands  would  defend  the  rights  and  liberties  of  his  country 
has  never  learned  what  these  rights  or  liberties  are.  The 
other  does  know,  but  has  learned  to  love  the  atmosphere  of 
monarchy  better  than  that  which  he  breathes  in  this  land. 
Between  these  two  our  freedom  is  in  danger,  and  that  is  why 
we  as  Knights  of  Labor  most  emphatically  protest  against 
the  introduction  of  the  child  to  the  workshop  until  he  has 
attained  his  fourteenth  year,  so  that  he  may  be  enabled  to 
secure  for  himself  the  benefits  of  an  education  that  will 
enable  him  to  understand  and  appreciate  the  blessings  of 
our  free  institutions  and,  if  necessary,  defend  them  with  his 
life. 


$2  THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

THE  LAST  NIGHT  OF  MISOLONGHI,  FROM  "ANDRONIKE." 

Translated  from  the  Greek  by  EDWIN  A.  GROSVENOR. 

IT  was  eight  o'clock  at  night.  The  besieged,  at  the  given 
signal,  had  gathered  at  the  eastern  batteries  of  Rhegas  and 
Montalembert,  from  which  they  purposed  to  make  their 
sortie. 

Three  thousand  combatants,  some  of  them  wounded  and 
convalescent,  were  to  head  the  sally,  and  cut  a  way  for  the 
thousand  artisans  and  five  thousand  women  and  children 
who  followed. 

"  This  is  the  plan  of  the  sortie,"  said  Notis  Botsaris,  the 
Nestor  of  the  day.  "  By  these  four  wooden  bridges  we 
shall  pass  out  in  the  utmost  silence.  We  shall  collect  in 
front  of  our  bastions,  Rhegas  and  Montalembert.  You," 
he  said,  turning  to  the  soldiers,  "  will  fall  on  your  faces  and 
remain  so  until  we  give  the  signal  to  attack.  Then  rush 
against  those  two  towers,  which  Ibrahim  Pasha  has  built 
over  against  us.  You,"  he  said,  turning  to  the  guard,  "  as 
soon  as  you  receive  the  signal,  will  divide  into  two  bodies. 
One  body,  composed  of  all  the  guards  on  that  side  of  the 
bastion  of  Montalembert,  will  cut  through  the  middle  of 
Reshid's  camp.  The  Albanians  are  there,  so  it  will  be  the 
most  difficult  part  of  the  undertaking.  The  rest,  with  the 
women  and  children  and  the  unarmed,  are  to  strike  through 
the  Arabs  of  Ibrahim.  All  those  who  survive  are  to  meet 
at  the  vineyard  of  Cotzicas,  that  is,  at  the  foot  of  Mount 
Aracynthus  near  the  Monastery  of  Saint  Symeon. 

"  It  is  time  to  separate.  Courage,  brothers !  Patience 
and  courage  !  We  stand  alone,  and  yet  all  Europe  admires 
our  valor.  Immortal  is  he  who  falls  to-night,  and  thrice  im- 
mortal whoever  survives  to  take  vengeance  for  the  slain." 


THE    LAST    NIGHT    OF    MISOLONGHI.  53 

Only  ten  minutes  later  the  pathetic  scene  of  separation 
was  enacted  on  the  seashore.  The  aged,  the  sick,  and 
many  of  the  inhabitants,  who,  unwilling  to  leave  the  place 
of  their  birth,  were  to  stay  in  the  city,  in  tears  were  embrac- 
ing and  parting  from  their  children,  brothers,  parents,  kin- 
dred, and  friends.  Those  moments  were  heartbreaking. 
Families  were  being  torn  asunder.  Each  last  kiss  was 
followed  by  a  moan.  The  fiercest  warriors  wept  upon  that 
blood-stained  soil,  and  many  a  stolid  heart  was  moved, 
hesitated,  and  shrank  back. 

An  aged,  gray-haired  man  advanced  and  wished  to  speak. 
It  was  the  primate  Chrestos  Capsalis.  A  sad  silence  for  a 
moment  interrupted  the  lamentations. 

"  Come,  unconquered  souls  of  my  sacrifice,  end  all  this. 
For  the  name  of  Christ,  let  the  rest  go  out !  "  cried  the 
primate.  "  These  moments  are  precious.  Follow  me!  I 
will  lead  you  to  a  place  where,  if  the  barbarians  dare 
approach,  you  shall  find  greater  glory  than  these  kindred 
from  whom  you  are  now  separated." 

So  ended  this  scene  of  parting.  Chrestos  Capsalis  led 
the  women  and  children  and  the  few  volunteers,  who  were 
to  stay,  inside  the  powder  magazine,  where  were  thirty  kegs 
of  powder.  There  he  was  prepared  to  make  to  Ares  a 
burnt  offering,  not  indeed  of  quadrupeds,  of  bulls  and  horses, 
but  of  human  lives. 

At  that  same  moment  the  women  and  children,  with  the 
rest,  issued  from  the  city.  The  hail  of  hostile  bullets  whistled 
all  around  them.  In  the  storm  wide  graves  yawned  for  the 
vanguard  of  the  Greeks.  Yet  neither  the  cannon  balls  nor 
the  lances  nor  the  hand-arms  of  the  Arabs  were  able  to  check 
the  onset  of  the  first  line.  Quickly  they  swept  beyond  the 
place  of  greatest  slaughter,  dispersed  the  infantry,  leaped 
upon  the  outworks,  and  cut  down  like  cattle  the  Egyptian 
gunners  and  the  French  officers  beside  their  own  guns. 


54  THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

But  on  the  way  they  came  upon  a  thousand  other  inhab- 
itants in  a  straggling  rabble.  While  ready  to  divide  into 
two  sections,  as  Notis  Botsaris  had  directed,  and  to  follow 
their  intrepid  vanguard,  they  had  suddenly  become  panic- 
stricken  and  fallen  into  confusion.  Every  tongue  began  to 
shout  the  fatal  cry:  "Back!  back  to  Misolonghi!"  No 
one  knows  who  uttered  it  first,  or  why  any  heart  gave  way. 
Huddled  together,  they  were  crowding  to  the  city  as  the 
Mussulman  masses,  rolling  back  and  around,  poured  in  from 
the  other  end  or  entered  with  them. 

Picture  those  barbaric  hordes,  which  through  thirteen 
months  had  been  thirsting  for  the  city's  blood.  Each  street 
became  a  slaughterhouse,  each  house  a  human  altar. 

The  mothers  of  western  Greece  were  not  the  Sciot 
women  of  Ionia.  The  old  men  and  the  sick  still  had 
drops  of  warlike  blood  in  their  veins.  Three  times  the 
Mussulmans  rushed  upon  them,  and  three  times  they  were 
driven  back  by  stones  and  sticks  and  the  chance  weapons 
of  despair. 

Here  valor  was  pitted  against  valor,  despair  against  feroc- 
ity, self-sacrifice  against  cruelty,  heroism  against  rapine, 
scorn  and  contempt  against  threats  and  blasphemies.  Inter- 
mittent pistol  shots,  clash  of  swords,  conflagration  of  houses 
and  bastions,  moans  of  the  expiring,  wild  yells  of  the  con- 
querors, taunts  of  the  despairing  repeated  on  earth  the 
scenes  of  hell.  There  might  be  seen  some  barefooted 
maiden  with  marble  bosom  and  bare  arm  intrepidly  defend- 
ing a  dying  brother.  There,  a  mother  was  throwing  a  babe 
into  a  well  and  then  springing  after  it,  that  she  might  not 
become  the  prey  of  the  dissolute  Mussulman  who  was  seek- 
ing to  enslave  her.  In  those  black  streets,  in  the  dust  of 
the  ground,  on  the  balconies  of  the  houses  rolled  Greek 
and  Arab,  Greek  and  Turkoman,  Greek  and  Albanian, 
locked  in  close  embrace,  teeth  set  in  each  other's  flesh, 


THE    LAST    NIGHT    OF    MISOLONGHI.  55 

struggling  each  to  destroy  the  other,  agonizing  each  to 
thrust  his  sword  first  into  the  other's  breast. 

During  those  crucial  moments  Capsalis  passed  from  one 
end  of  the  house  containing  the  powder  to  the  other, 
encouraging  all. 

The  Turks  thought  that  here  were  concealed  all  the 
treasures  of  the  city.  As  they  heard  no  gunshots,  but  only 
women's  voices,  their  idea  became  confirmed,  and  they 
rushed  upon  it  in  crowds  from  every  direction.  Some  tried 
to  get  in  by  the  windows,  others  by  breaking  down  the 
doors,  others  by  climbing  on  the  roof,  in  hopes  of  cutting 
their  way  through,  and  so  leaping  in. 

The  doors  were  already  broken  through,  the  steel  of  the 
Mussulman  clanged  ominously,  when  Chrestos  Capsalis, 
standing,  said :  "  Remember  us,  Lord,  in  thy  kingdom ! 
To  the  everlasting  life,  brothers  !  " 

He  plunged  in  his  torch  and  the  awful  explosion  fol- 
lowed. The  solid  ground  was  torn  open,  and  the  sea  from 
the  lagoon  poured  in.  Some  were  drowned,  who,  after 
being  shot  into  the  air,  fell  back,  half  burned  to  the  earth. 
Two  thousand  Turks  found  death  around  Capsalis,  and  five 
hundred  more  in  the  neighboring  houses.  We  are  not  reck- 
oning on  the  Greeks.  Out  of  the  six  thousand  only  twelve 
hundred  mutilated  beings  survived  to  endure  slavery. 

That  was  the  most  awful  night  which  the  Greek  revolution 
saw. 


56  THE    NEW    CENTURY    SPEAKER. 

LAW  AND  HUMANITY. 

RAYMOND  N.  KELLOGG. 

THE  noted  divine,  Richard  Hooker,  once  said,  "  Of  law 
there  can  be  no  less  acknowledged  than  that  her  seat  is  the 
bosom  of  God,  her  voice  the  harmony  of  the  world ;  all 
things  in  heaven  and  earth  do  her  homage,  the  very  least 
as  feeling  her  care,  and  the  greatest  as  not  exempted  from 
her  power."  This  is  the  ideal  of  law.  It  is  a  power  which 
is  to  be  the  stronghold  of  the  weak,  the  refuge  of  the  op- 
pressed, and  the  vindication  of  wrong.  And  yet  how  long 
have  the  centuries  waited  to  make  actual  this  ideal.  The 
Greek,  with  all  his  splendid  achievements  in  art  and  litera- 
ture, had  no  thought  of  law  as  one  with  humanity.  In  his 
statutes,  written  or  unwritten,  he  was  little  better  than  the 
savage. 

Hooker  gave  the  world  his  ideals  three  centuries  ago; 
yet  even  up  to  the  middle  of  the  present  century  humanity 
was  bound  in  chains.  Not  until  then,  did  slavery  hear  in 
our  own  land  a  young  senator  from  Massachusetts  proudly 
assert  that  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States  did  not 
recognize  slavery,  —  that  slavery  was  sectional,  that  liberty 
was  national.  Nor  was  it  until  the  tread  of  Sherman's 
soldiers  echoed  through  the  state  represented  by  John 
Rutledge,  half  a  century  before,  that  we  could  ask,  was  not 
John  Rutledge  wrong  when  he  said,  "  Religion  and  humanity 
have  nothing  to  do  with  this  question  "  ?  and  was  not 
George  Mason  right,  as  he  declared,  "  Providence  punishes 
national  sin  by  national  calamities"?  Then  it  was,  but  not 
until  then,  that  we  could  say  with  the  Oxford  student  who 
chose  America  for  his  home  because  America  is  the  home 
of  liberty,  that,  "  Above  all  nations  is  humanity."  Yes, 
above  all  nations  is  humanity,  and  Charles  Sumner  expressed 
again  this  same  sentiment  in  the  last  words  which  he  ever 


LAW    AND    HUMANITY.  57 

publicly  spoke  in  Massachusetts,  when  he  said,  "  Nor  would 
I  have  my  country  forget  at  any  time,  in  the  discharge  of 
its  transcendent  duties,  that  the  greatest  nation  is  that 
which  does  the  most  for  humanity." 

The  history  of  social  progress  may  be  read,  not  in  the 
magnificent  material  monuments  of  our  age  —  for  other 
ages  have  reared  monuments  still  more  magnificent  —  but 
on  the  statute  books  in  those  laws  which  condemn  cruelty, 
which  limit  power,  which  restrain  the  strong  and  protect 
the  weak.  Listen  to  Lord  Shaftsbury  as  in  the  English 
Parliament  he  pleads  the  cause  of  the  children.  Through 
his  ceaseless  efforts  the  mines  have  been  investigated,  and 
in  them  have  been  found  children  from  four  to  twelve  years 
of  age  doing  the  labor  of  beasts,  because  human  flesh  and 
blood  have  been  cheaper  than  the  labor  of  horses.  All  day 
long,  from  twelve  to  fourteen  hours,  these  little  slaves  toiled 
wearily  on  in  dark  and  horrible  labyrinths.  And  so  day 
and  night,  little  children  worked  in  the  factories,  amidst  the 
burring  din  of  machinery,  in  the  sickening  smell  of  oil  with 
which  the  axles  of  thousands  of  wheels  and  spindles  were 
bathed. 

•For  all  day,  the  wheels  are  droning,  turning  ; 
Their  wind  comes  in  our  faces, 

Till  our  hearts  turn,  our  heads  with  pulses  burning, 
And  the  walls  turn  in  their  places : 
Turns  the  sky  in  the  high  window  blank  and  reeling, 
Turns  the  long  light  that  drops  adown  the  wall, 
Turn  the  black  flies  that  crawl  along  the  ceiling, 
All  are  turning,  all  the  day,  and  we  with  all. 
And  all  day,  the  iron  wheels  are  droning, 
And  sometimes  we  could  pray, 

O  ye  wheels, 
Stop  !  be  silent  for  to-day. 

Yes,  Mrs.  Browning's  "  Cry  of  the  Children  "  was  indeed 
heard.  The  law,  through  the  devotion  of  Lord  Shaftsbury 


58  THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

to  their  sad  cause,  threw  about  them  its  protecting  arm  and 
made  this  outrage  upon  humanity  illegal. 

Let  us  add  another  chapter  to  that  record  of  advancing 
civilization  which  this  closing  century  shall  have  to  its 
account;  and,  with  all  this  great  advance  in  the  embodiment 
of  humanity  and  law,  may  we  not  believe  that  the  prophecy 
of  Victor  Hugo  is  something  more  than  a  dream,  when  he 
tells  us,  that  "  a  day  will  come  when  the  only  battlefield 
will  be  the  market  open  to  commerce  and  the  mind  opening 
to  new  ideas.  A  day  will  come  when  a  cannon  ball  will  be 
exhibited  in  public  museums,  just  as  an  instrument  of  tor- 
ture is  now.  A  day  will  come  when  the  United  States  of 
America  and  the  united  states  of  Europe  shall  be  seen 
extending  the  hand  of  fellowship  across  the  ocean,  exchang- 
ing their  products,  their  industries,  their  arts,  their  genius, 
clearing  the  earth,  peopling  the  deserts,  improving  creation 
under  the  eye  of  the  Creator,  and  uniting  for  the  good  of 
all,  these  two  irresistible  and  infinite  powers,  —  the  fraternity 
of  men  and  the  power  of  God." 


THE   "LITTLE  DAVID"   OF  NATIONS. 

WILLIAM  C.  DUNCAN. 

AMONG  the  inspiring  pictures  that  history  has  given  us, 
few  make  the  pulse  beat  quicker,  or  the  heart  glow  with  a 
warmer  sympathy  than  the  story  of  the  stripling  David  and 
his  battle  with  the  giant  Philistine.  Fresh  from  the  simple 
life  of  a  Jewish  shepherd  boy,  he  reached  the  field  of  battle 
to  find  the  army  of  his  people  in  dismay,  and  a  haughty 
giant  heaping  insults  on  the  God  he  feared.  With  childlike 
wonder  he  asked  the  question  :  "  Who  is  this  uncircumcised 


THE  "LITTLE  DAVID"  OF  NATIONS.        59 

Philistine  that  lie  should  defy  the  army  of  the  living  God  ? " 
and,  with  the  simple  courage  of  the  young  hero  he  was,  he 
resolved  to  stake  his  life  for  his  people  and  his  people's  God. 

More  than  three  thousand  years  have  passed  since  that 
country  lad,  with  his  shepherd's  sling,  put  to  flight  the  army 
of  the  Philistines  and  slew  their  champion,  Goliath  of  Gath. 
No  giant  of  enormous  stature  threatens  our  lives  or  blas- 
phemes our  God,  but  the  old  battle  between  the  hordes  of 
the  Philistines  and  the  army  of  the  living  God  is  still  on. 

We  have  seen  the  Ottoman  Empire,  insolent,  cruel,  and 
haughty  in  its  disregard  for  the  Christian  nations,  commit 
atrocities  upon  the  helpless  Armenian  and  Cretan  Chris- 
tians, which  make  the  very  stones  cry  out  for  vengeance  ; 
and  we  have  seen  the  nations  of  Christ  the  King  hesitating, 
trembling,  doubting,  dismayed  before  the  bold  defiance  of 
the  "  unutterable  Turk."  The  champion  of  a  barbaric  faith 
has  stood  forth,  like  Goliath  of  old,  and  cried :  "  I  defy  the 
Armies  of  Israel  this  day;  give  me  a  man  that  we  may  fight 
together " ;  and  among  all  the  company  of  the  Nations  of 
the  Living  God  it  is  Greece,  the  little  shepherd  boy  from 
the  pastures  of  Thessaly,  who  has  taken  up  the  seemingly 
unequal  contest. 

And  even  this  is  not  sufficient.  The  David  of  long  ago 
fought  against  apparently  overwhelming  odds,  but  the  battle 
once  begun  all  Israel  cheered  him  on.  Greece  in  her 
struggle  of  to-day  did  not  have  even  the  aid  of  the  neutral- 
ity of  those  who  should  be  her  strongest  allies.  On  the 
contrary,  she  looked  about  her  to  see  the  Ottoman  Empire 
in  arms  against  her,  and  Christian  Europe  ready  to  tie  her 
hands,  or  drive  her  altogether  from  the  field.  Diplomacy, 
political  ambition,  and  the  "balance  of  power,"  and,  most 
contemptible  of  all,  financial  considerations  closed  the  ears 
of  Europe's  rulers  against  the  demands  of  Christianity  and 
common  justice. 


6O  THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

It  is  a  humiliating  spectacle.  Humiliating  to  the  man 
who  feels  anything  of  the  shame  and  disgrace  which  must 
be  attached  to  the  name  "  Christian  "  in  the  eyes  of  the 
world  at  large;  humiliating  to  the  man  who  fosters  one 
spark  of  deep,  religious  sentiment  in  his  being;  humiliating 
to  the  man  who  believes  the  law  of  nations  should  be  the 
law  of  God.  But,  thank  God,  it  is  a  glorious  spectacle, 
too  !  We  have  seen  Greece,  the  "  Little  David  "  of  nations, 
least  of  all  his  kin,  step  boldly  forward  in  the  name  of  all 
his  truest  nature  holds  dear  and  sacred,  and,  with  no  fear  in 
his  heart  but  the  fear  of  his  God,  fit  the  pebble  to  the  shep- 
herd's sling.  And,  if  there  is  still  a  God  in  heaven,  I 
believe,  whatever  the  prudential  criticism  of  a  commercial 
age,  he  looks  down  on  that  brave  little  people  and  cries : 
"  Well  done,  thou  good  and  faithful  servant!  " 

Only  a  few  months  ago,  Greece  saw  a  revival  of  the  old 
Olympic  games,  the  glory  of  her  proudest  days.  She  saw 
alien  after  alien  win  the  olive  branch  of  victory,  and  heeded 
it  not.  But  when  the  Marathon  race  was  on,  the  old  spirit 
awoke,  and  Greece,  the  conqueror  of  the  world,  was  alive 
again.  Every  Greek  breast  heaved  and  every  Greek  heart 
beat  fast  during  those  painful  hours  of  suspense.  It  was 
not  the  sturdy  runner  of  to-day  toiling  toward  that  goal.  It 
was  Phidippides  of  old,  panting,  struggling,  dying  even,  but 
bringing  the  glad  news  of  victory.  And  when  the  foremost 
runner  swept  into  view,  and  the  vast  assembly  knew  that  it 
was  a  Greek  breast  that  should  cut  the  silken  cord  at  the 
finish,  tears  of  joy  coursed  down  the  dusky  cheeks  of  his 
countrymen,  for  the  honor  of  Greece  had  been  upheld. 

May  that  glorious  victory  be  but  the  earnest  of  a  greater 
triumph  in  some  not  distant  day,  when  the  Armies  of  the 
Aliens  shall  bow  before  the  servants  of  the  true  God  and 
the  "  Little  David  "  of  nations  be  victorious ! 


MACAULAY.  6l 

MACAULAY. 

WILLIAM  M.  PUNSHON. 

IT  has  not  been  an  unfrequent  charge  against  Macaulay 
that  he  had  no  heart.  He  who  has  no  heart  of  his  own 
cannot  reach  mine  and  make  it  feel.  There  are  instincts  in 
the  soul  of  a  man  which  tell  him  unerringly  when  a  brother 
soul  is  speaking.  Let  me  see  a  man  in  earnest,  and  his 
earnestness  will  kindle  mine.  I  apply  this  test  in  the  case 
of  Macaulay.  I  am  told  of  the  greatest  anatomist  of  the 
age  suspending  all  speculations  about  the  mastodon  and  all 
analyses  of  the  lesser  mammalia,  beneath  the  spell  of  the 
sorcerer  who  drew  the  rout  at  Sedgemoor  and  the  siege  of 
Derry.  I  see  Robert  Hall,  lying  on  his  back  at  sixty  years 
of  age,  to  learn  the  Italian  language,  that  he  might  verify 
Macaulay's  description  of  Dante,  and  enjoy  the  "  Inferno  " 
and  the  "  Paradise  "  in  the  original.  Who  cannot  remem- 
ber the  strange,  wild  heart  throbs  with  which  he  reveled  in 
the  description  of  the  Puritans,  and  the  first  article  on  Bun- 
yan  ?  There  is  something  in  all  this  more  than  can  be 
explained  by  artistic  grouping  or  by  the  charms  of  style. 
The  man  has  convictions  and  sympathies  of  his  own,  and 
the  very  strength  of  those  convictions  and  sympathies  forces 
an  answer  from  the  "  like  passions  "  to  which  he  appeals. 

Critics  charge  him  with  carelessness,  but  it  is  in  flippant 
words.  If  he  is  said  to  exaggerate,  not  a  few  of  them  out- 
Herod  him.  Moreover,  for  the  very  modes  of  their  censor- 
ship they  are  indebted  to  him.  They  bend  Ulysses'  bow. 
They  wield  the  Douglas  brand.  His  style  is  antithetical, 
and  therefore  they  condemn  him  in  antitheses.  His  sen- 
tences are  peculiar,  and  they  denounce  him  in  his  own 
tricks  of  phrase.  There  can  be  no  greater  compliment  to 
any  man.  The  critics  catch  the  contagion  of  the  malady 


62  THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

which  provokes  their  surgery.  The  eagle  is  aimed  at  by  the 
archers,  but  "  he  nursed  the  pinion  which  impelled  the  steel." 

Before  Macaulay  wrote,  history  for  the  masses  of  English 
readers  was  as  the  marble  statue ;  he  came,  and  by  his 
genius  struck  the  statue  into  life.  We  thank  him  that  he 
has  made  history  readable.  We  thank  him  that  it  is  not  in 
his  page  the  bare  recital  of  facts,  names,  and  deeds  inven- 
toried as  in  auctioneer's  catalogue,  but  a  glowing  portraiture 
of  the  growth  of  a  great  nation,  and  of  the  men  who  helped 
or  hindered  it.  We  thank  him  that  he  has  disposed  forever 
of  that  shallow  criticism,  that  the  brilliant  is  always  the 
superficial  and  unworthy,  and  that  in  the  inestimable  value 
of  his  work  he  has  confirmed  what  the  sonorous  periods  of 
John  Milton,  and  the  long-resounding  eloquence  of  Jeremy 
Taylor,  and  the  fiery  passion  tones  of  Edmund  Burke  had 
abundantly  declared  before  him,  —  that  the  diamond  flashes 
with  a  rarer  luster  than  the  spangle.  We  thank  him  for  the 
vividness  of  delineation  by  which  we  can  see  statesmen  like 
Somers  and  Nottingham  in  their  cabinets,  marshals  like 
Sarsfield  and  Luxembourg  in  the  field,  and  men  like  Buck- 
ingham and  Marlborough,  who  dallied  in  the  council  room 
and  plotted  at  the  revel. 

Above  all,  we  thank  Macaulay  for  the  English-heartedness 
which  throbs  through  his  writings,  and  which  was  so  marked 
a  characteristic  of  his  life.  It  may  be  well  said  of  him,  as 
he  said  of  Pitt,  "  he  loved  his  country  as  a  Roman  the  city 
of  the  Seven  Hills,  as  an  Athenian  the  city  of  the  Violet 
Crown."  How  he  -kindles  at  each  stirring  or  plaintive 
memory  in  the  annals  he  was  so  glad  to  record!  Elizabeth 
at  Tilbury,  the  scattering  of  the  fierce  and  proud  Armada, 
the  thrilling  agony  and  bursting  gladness  which  succeeded 
each  other  so  rapidly  at  the  siege  of  Derry,  the  last  sleep  of 
Argyle,  the  wrongs  of  Alice  Lisle,  the  prayer  upon  whose 
breath  fled  the  spirit  of  Algernon  Sydney,  —  they  touch  his 


THE    MAN    FOR    THE    CRISIS.  63 

very  soul,  and  he  recounts  them  with  a  fervor  which  becomes 
contagious,  until  his  readers  are  thrilled  with  the  same  joy 
or  pain. 

Not  far  from  the  place  of  his  sepulture  are  the  tablets  of 
Gay,  and  Rowe,  and  Garrick,  and  Goldsmith.  On  his  right, 
sleeps  Isaac  Barrow,  the  ornament  of  his  own  Trinity  Col- 
lege ;  on  his  left,  no  clamor  breaks  the  slumber  of  Samuel 
Johnson.  From  a  pedestal  at  the  head  of  the  grave,  serene 
and  thoughtful,  Addison  looks  down.  From  the  opposite 
sides  Shakespeare,  the  remembrancer  of  mortality,  reminds 
us  from  his  open  scroll  that  the  "  great  globe  itself,  and  all 
that  it  inhabit,  shall  dissolve,  and,  like  the  baseless  fabric  of 
a  vision,  leave  not  a  rack  behind  ";  and  Handel,  comforting 
us  in  our  night  of  weeping  by  the  glad  hope  of  immortality, 
seems  to  listen  while  they  chant  forth  his  own  magnificent 
hymn  :  "  His  body  is  buried  in  peace,  but  his  name  liveth 
forevermore." 


THE  MAN  FOR  THE  CRISIS. 

ADAPTED. 

THAT  General  Garfield  was  the  man  for  the  crisis  is  illus- 
trated by  his  famous  ride  from  General  Rosecrans  to  General 
Thomas,  during  the  critical  Battle  of  Chickamauga.  In  this 
battle  the  Army  of  the  Cumberland  was  almost  routed.  In 
order  to  enable  General  Thomas  to  meet  the  rebel  General 
Longstreet,  it  was  necessary  for  him  to  know  the  condition 
of  Rosecrans'  forces. 

It  is  at  this  crisis  that,  as  chief  of  staff,  Garfield  proposes 
to  undertake  the  fearful  ride.  Rosecrans  hesitates,  then 
says  :  "  As  you  will,  general."  Giving  Garfield  his  hand, 


64  THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

he  adds  while  his  face  shows  his  emotion  :  "  We  may  not 
meet  again.  Good-by ;  God  bless  you  !  "  Then  they  part, 
and  Garfield  begins  his  perilous  ride. 

To  guide  the  way,  Captain  Gaw  and  two  orderlies  go 
with  Garfield.  They  make  a  wide  detour  to  avoid  the  Con- 
federates, and  by  the  route  they  take,  it  is  eight  miles  of 
tangled  wood  and  open  road  before  they  can  get  to  Thomas, 
while  at  any  turn  they  may  come  upon  the  enemy. 

They  have  left  Rossville  a  thousand  yards  behind,  when 
suddenly  from  along  the  left  of  the  road  a  volley  of  a  thou- 
sand minie  balls  falls  among  them,  thick  as  hail,  wounding 
one  horse,  killing  another,  and  stretching  the  two  orderlies 
on  the  ground  lifeless. 

Garfield  is  mounted  on  a  magnificent  horse  that  knows 
his  rider's  bridle  hand  as  well  as  he  knows  the  fence  which 
he  leaps  into  the  cotton  field.  The  opposite  fence  is  lined 
with  gray  blouses,  and  a  single  glance  tells  Garfield  that 
they  are  loading  for  another  volley.  He  has  been  in  tight 
places  before,  but  this  is  the  tightest.  Putting  his  lips 
firmly  together,  he  says  to  himself  :  "  Now  is  your  time  ;  be 
a  man,  James  Garfield."  He  speaks  to  his  horse,  and, 
putting  the  rowels  into  his  side,  Garfield  takes  a  zigzag 
course  across  the  cotton  field.  It  is  his  only  chance  ;  he 
must  tack  from  side  to  side,  for  he  is  a  dead  man  if  they 
get  a  steady  aim  upon  him.  Up  the  hill  he  goes,  tacking, 
when  another  volley  bellows  out  from  the  timber.  His 
horse  is  struck  —  a  flesh  wound  —  but  the  noble  animal 
only  leaps  forward  the  faster.  Scattering  bullets  whiz  by 
the  rider's  head,  but  he  is  within  a  few  feet  of  the  summit. 
Another  volley  echoes  along  the  hill  when  he  is  half  over 
the  crest;  but  in  a  moment  more,  as  he  tears  down  the 
slope,  a  small  body  of  mounted  bluecoats  gallop  forward  to 
meet  him.  At  their  head  is  General  McCook,  his  face 
anxious  and  pallid.  "  My  God,  Garfield  !  "  he  cries,  "  I 


THE    MAN    FOR    THE    CRISIS.  65 

thought  you  were  killed.  How  you  have  escaped  is  a 
miracle." 

Garfield's  horse  had  been  struck  twice,  but  no  matter  ;  at 
a  breakneck  pace  they  go  forward  through  plowed  fields 
and  tangled  woods,  and  over  broken  and  rocky  hills,  for 
four  weary  miles,  till  they  climb  a  wooded  crest  and  are 
within  sight  of  Thomas.  Shot  and  shell  and  canister  plow 
up  the  ground  all  about  Garfield,  but  in  the  midst  of  it  he 
halts,  and  with  uplifted  right  arm  and  eyes  full  of  tears,  he 
shouts  as  he  catches  sight  of  Thomas :  "  There  Tie  is,  God 
bless  the  old  hero  !  he  has  saved  the  army  !  "  Then  he 
plunges  down  the  hill  through  the  fiery  storm,  and  in  five 
minutes  more  is  by  the  side  of  Thomas,  and  has  delivered 
his  message. 

Turn  now  to  another  scene  in  the  life  of  General  Garfield. 
It  was  the  morning  after  President  Lincoln's  assassination. 
The  country  was  excited  to  its  utmost  tension,  and  New 
York  City  seemed  ready  for  the  scenes  of  the  French  Revo- 
lution. The  intelligence  of  Lincoln's  murder  had  been 
flashed  by  the  wires  over  the  whole  land.  Fear  took  pos- 
session of  men's  minds  as  to  the  fate  of  the  government.  It 
was  a  dark  and  terrible  moment. 

Eleven  o'clock  was  the  hour  set  for  the  meeting.  Fifty 
thousand  people  had  gathered,  cramming  and  jamming  and 
wedged  in  tight  as  men  could  stand  together.  Not  an  hurrah 
was  heard,  but  for  the  most  part  dead  silence,  or  a  deep 
ominous  muttering,  which  ran  like  a  rising  wave  up  the 
street  toward  Broadway,  and  again  down  toward  the  river  on 
the  right. 

Soon  two  long  pieces  of  scantling  crossed  at  the  top  like 
the  letter  "  X  "  stood  out  above  the  heads  of  the  crowd.  As 
a  dozen  men  followed  its  slow  motion  through  the  masses, 
"  Vengeance  "  was  the  cry.  On  the  right  suddenly  the  shout 
arose:  "The  World!  The  World!  The  office  of  the 


66  THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

World!"  It  was  a  critical  moment;  what  might  come 
next  no  one  could  tell.  Police  and  military  would  have 
availed  little,  for  a  telegram  had  just  been  read  from  Wash- 
ington :  "  Seward  is  dying." 

Just  at  that  juncture  a  man  stepped  forward  with  a  small 
flag  in  his  hand,  and  beckoned  to  the  crowd.  "Another 
telegram  from  Washington."  And  then,  in  the  awful  silence 
of  the  crisis,  a  right  hand  was  lifted  skyward,  and  a  voice, 
clear  and  steady,  loud  and  distinct,  spoke  out  : 

"  Fellow  citizens,  clouds  and  darkness  are  round  about 
Him.  His  pavilion  is  dark  waters  and  thick  clouds  of  the 
skies.  Justice  and  judgment  are  the  establishment  of  His 
throne.  Mercy  and  truth  shall  go  before  His  face.  Fellow 
citizens,  God  reigns  and  the  government  at  Washington  still 
lives." 

The  effect  was  instantaneous.  The  crowd  stood  riveted 
to  the  ground,  gazing  at  the  motionless  orator,  thinking  of 
God  and  the  security  of  the  government.  As  the  boiling 
wave  subsides  and  settles  to  the  sea  when  some  strong  wind 
beats  it  down,  so  the  tumult  of  the  people  sank  and  became 
still. 

What  might  have  happened  had  the  swaying  and  mad- 
dened mob  been  let  loose,  none  can  tell.  The  man  for  the 
crisis  was  on  the  spot.  It  was  the  hero  of  the  famous  ride 
of  Chickamauga. 


THE    MISSION    OF    THOMAS    HOOD.  6/ 


THE  MISSION  OF  THOMAS   HOOD. 

ADAPTED. 

THERE  is  no  more  worthy  mission  for  the  poet  than  to 
teach  the  doctrine  of  human  brotherhood.  This  Thomas 
Hood  selected  as  his  mission.  He  could  not,  like  Peabody, 
build  hospitals,  nor,  like  Cooper,  open  the  avenues  of  educa- 
tion to  all,  nor,  like  Howard,  descend  to  the  dungeons  of 
crime ;  but  he  entered  the  garret  and  cellar  of  pinching 
poverty,  beheld  their  secret  miseries,  despairs,  and  dumb 
agonies,  and  then  unrolled  them  to  the  sight  of  Christendom. 

But  his  mission  was  not  simply  to  point  out  sorrow  in  the 
dwellings  of  the  lowly.  The  great  heart  of  England  must 
be  set  throbbing  with  loving  kindness,  its  people  stirred  to 
a  grand  human  impulse. 

In  a  cheerless  London  attic  sits  a  seamstress.  The  stars 
shine  through  the  broken  roof;  the  shivering  wind  creeps  in 
and  stings  her  through  her  scanty  robe.  In  her  wretched- 
ness she  is  not  unknown.  She  has  become  the  subject  of 
elaborate  essays ;  eloquent  divines  have  protested  against 
her  miseries  in  the  name  of  Christ ;  statesmen  have  viewed 
her  at  a  distance;  and,  although  the  ear  of  England  has  been 
reached,  its  sluggish  heart  is  yet  unstirred.  But  the  poet 
sits  beside  her,  counts  with  pitying  eye  the  stitches  of  her 
weary  needle,  looks  at  the  testimony  of  her  bitter  tears, 
hears  her  helpless  groans,  and  then,  rising,  vows  in  the  name 
of  humanity  that  her  wrongs  shall  be  known  to  the  limits  of 
the  race.  And  so  you  hear  the  voice  of  the  po.or  in  the 
verse  of  the  poet  philanthropist,  now  choking  under  the 
pressure  of  its  sorrow,  now  sinking  down  to  the  whisper  of 
weakness,  now  shuddering  up  into  the  laughter  of  despair : 

O,  men,  with  sisters  dear ! 

O,  men,  with  mothers  and  wives ! 


68  THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

It  is  not  linen  you  're  wearing  out, 
But  human  creature's  lives. 

Stitch,  stitch,  stitch, 
In  poverty,  hunger,  and  dirt, 
Sewing  at  once,  with  a  double  thread 
A  shroud  as  well  as  a  shirt. 

England  pauses,  listens,  and  takes  up  the  energy  of  a  more 
vital  charity.  The  poet  has  given  that  "  one  touch  of  nature" 
which  "  makes  the  whole  world  kin."  The  old  paralysis  of 
national  selfishness,  if  not  healed,  is  lessened,  and  Hood's 
song  becomes  the  potent  rebuke  of  greed  and  cold-hearted- 
ness  in  every  home,  and  the  inspiration  of  love  as  the  law 
of  nations. 

It  is  a  rare  and  most  solemn  praise  of  any  man  to  say  of 
him  that  he  has  bettered  mankind.  Thomas  Hood  has 
fully  earned  that  plaudit.  He  altered  the  tone  of  public 
feeling,  expounded  the  humane  sentiment,  and  employed 
the  genius  of  a  poet  in  fields  which  others  may  not 
explore. 

Sternest  and  most  inflexible  virtue  must  needs  melt  under 
the  fire  of  his  love  for  the  forlorn  creature  who  has  flung 
herself  from  London  Bridge  into  the  dark  waters  of  the 
Thames.  As  he  stands  over  the  poor  dead  child  of  sin, 
what  does  he  find  to  say  ?  He  goes  down  to  the  depths  of 
her  miseries,  tries  her  before  the  bar  of  his  own  soul,  and 
the  verdict  is  : 

Touch  her  not  scornfully ; 
Think  of  her  mournfully, 

Gently,  and  humanly. 
Not  of  the  stains  of  her  ; 
All  that  remains  of  her 

Now  is  pure  womanly. 

It  is  not  for  you,  unspotted  man,  pure  woman,  to  sit  in  hard 
inquest,  but 


MORAL    COURAGE.  69 

Cross  her  hands  humbly, 
As  if  praying  dumbly, 
Over  her  breast. 

Owning  her  weakness, 

Her  evil  behavior, 
And  leaving,  with  meekness 

Her  sins  to  her  Savior. 

Oh,  that  is  the  Christlike  spirit !  It  whitens  not  the 
black  aspect  of  sin,  but  it  turns  the  sympathy  of  the  heart 
in  the  channel  of  the  love  of  that  Christ,  who  went  to  the 
worst  grades  of  human  life  to  seek  and  save  that  which  was 
lost. 

The  "Song  of  the  Shirt"  and  the  "Bridge  of  Sighs" 
embody  the  mission  of  Thomas  Hood.  Into  the  strong 
heart  of  the  world's  indifference  they  have  thrust  pity  for  the 
poor  and  sinful,  and  warmth  into  the  blighted  life  of  the 
lonely  and  sunken.  Tearing  off  the  covering  of  vice,  they 
have  implanted  a  stronger  hatred  of  it,  and  have  given 
currency  to  the  grand  old  principle  of  charity. 


MORAL  COURAGE. 

F.  W.  FARRAR. 

ONE  morning  among  the  high  Alps,  I  happened  to  be 
standing  on  a  glacier  which  lay  deep  beneath  a  circle  of 
stupendous  hills,  when  the  first  beam  of  sunrise  smote  the 
highest  summit  of  Monte  Rosa.  As  I  gazed  from,  the  yet 
unbroken  darkness  of  the  valley,  so  vivid  was  the  luster  of 
that  ray  of  gold  upon  the  snow,  that  it  looked  like  a  flame 
of  intensest  crimson  ;  and  even  while  I  gazed,  the  whole 
"  pomp  and  prodigality  of  heaven  "  began  to  be  unfolded 
before  me.  Mountain  crest  after  mountain  crest  caught  the 


7O  THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

splendor,  and  it  flowed  down  their  mighty  crags  in  rivers  of 
ever-broadening  gold,  until  not  only  was  the  east  full  of 
glowing  flame,  but  the  west,  too,  echoed  back  the  dawn  in 
bright  reflection.  The  peaks  which  had  caught  the  earliest 
blaze  were  lost  in  blue  sky  and  boundless  light  —  and  it 
was  day. 

So  I  never  think  of  the  heroes  of  earth  without  recalling 
to  memory  those  sunlit  hills.  And,  oh,  it  is  good  for  us  thus 
to  lift  up  our  eyes  unto  the  hills  !  It  is  good  for  us,  in  the 
midst  of  lives  so  inconsistent,  so  dwarfed,  so  conventional  as 
ours,  to  bear  in  mind  how  much  greater  and  better  others 
have  been.  Their  high  examples  teach  us  how  we  may  rise 
above  our  nothingness.  They  show  us  how  little  we  are 
when  we  live  the  selfish  life  of  the  world  ;  how  great  we  may 
be,  if  we  live  as  the  Sons  of  God. 

But,  since  it  would  be  vague  to  bid  you  excel  in  all  virtues, 
I  will  point  oat  but  one,  such  that,  if  you  have  it,  all  the 
rest  will  follow  it.  That  virtue  is  moral  courage.  That 
courage  which  braves  opinion  in  the  cause  of  right,  that 
courage  which  confronts  tyranny  to  protect  the  weak. 

Take  one  of  the  most  conspicuous  instances  which  history 
affords.  The  veteran  Stilicho  had  conquered  Alaric  and 
his  Goths.  The  Romans  invite  the  hero  and  his  ward,  —  a 
stupid,  cowardly  boy,  —  to  gladiatorial  games  in  honor  of  the 
victory.  The  empire  had  been  Christian  for  more  than  a 
hundred  years,  yet  those  infamous  and  brutalizing  shows 
still  continue.  The  games  begin.  Tall,  strong  men  enter 
the  arena.  The  tragic  cry  echoes  through  the  amphitheater  : 
"  Hail,  Caesar  !  Death,  we  salute  thee  !  "  The  swords  are 
drawn,  and  at  an  instant's  signal  down  into  the  arena  leaps 
a  rude,  ignorant  monk,  who,  however  rude  and  ignorant,  can 
tear  to  pieces  by  the  strength  of  moral  courage  all  these 
devil's  cobwebs  of  guilty  custom  and  guilty  acquiescence. 
"  The  gladiators  shall  not  fight !  "  he  exclaims.  "  Are  you 


NAPOLEON'S  AMBITION  AND  SHELLEY'S  DOUBT.     71 

going  to  thank  God  by  shedding  innocent  blood  ? "  A  yell 
of  execration  rises  from  those  eighty  thousand  spectators. 
"  Who  is  this  impudent  wretch  who  dares  to  set  himself  up 
as  knowing  better  than  we  do  ?  Who  dares  to  accuse 
eighty  thousand  people,  —  Christians  too,  —  of  doing  wrong  ? 
Down  with  him  !  Pelt  him  !  Cut  him  down  !  "  Stones  are 
hurled  at  him.  The  gladiators,  angry  at  his  interference, 
run  him  through  with  their  swords.  He  falls  dead,  and  his 
body  is  kicked  aside.  The  games  go  on,  and  the  people, 
Christians  and  all,  shout  applause.  Ay,  the  games  go  on, 
but  for  the  last  time  !  The  eyes  of  the  people  are  opened. 
The  blood  of  a  martyr  is  on  their  souls  ;  shame  stops  for- 
ever the  massacre  of  gladiators  ;  and  because  one  poor, 
ignorant  hermit  has  moral  courage,  "  one  more  habitual 
crime  is  wiped  away  from  the  annals  of  the  world." 

Is  not  looking  at  such  a  life  as  this  like  looking  at  a  hill- 
top fired  with  the  first  beams  of  a  rising  sun  ?  We  may  be 
wandering  in  the  darkness,  but  such  lives  as  his  are  proof 
that  the  sun  is  risen.  Such  heroes  are  the  prophecies  of 
the  coming  day. 


NAPOLEON'S  AMBITION  AND  SHELLEY'S  DOUBT. 

WILLIAM  DE  SHON. 

THERE  is  an  opinion  that  littleness  must  necessarily  be 
mean,  degrading,  weak.  But  this  is  not  so.  Greatness  is 
the  child  of  inspiration.  Without  this  divine  power  it 
becomes  error  ;  and  error,  in  any  form,  is  littleness.  Unin- 
spired greatness,  therefore,  is  superior  littleness. 

The  genius  of  Napoleon  embodied  the  three  essential 
characteristics  of  a  great  general,  —  forethought,  abstraction, 
will.  But  underneath  and  permeating  all  was  the  stern  pur- 


72  THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

pose  that  brooked  no  opposition,  that  knew  no  defeat.  There 
are  certain  subterranean  streams  which  roll  their  hidden 
waters  through  slowly  wasting  channels  for  many  patient 
centuries.  We  look  at  the  smiling  hills  above  them,  and 
say  they  are  everlasting.  But  in  the  far-off  future,  every 
cascade  will  shimmer  in  the  disfigured  face  of  an  undermined 
mountain.  So  beneath  its  calm  exterior  flowed  the  current 
of  his  will,  biding  patiently  the  time  when  it  should  burst 
its  barriers  to  sweep  away  the  thrones  of  kings  and  bear  on 
its  resistless  tide  the  wreck  of  empires. 

Ambition  was  the  all-absorbing  littleness  of  Napoleon. 
Not  that  hackneyed  word  of  many  meanings,  under  which 
the  nineteenth  century  has  classed  two-thirds  of  the  human 
passions,  but  that  ambition  whose  subtle  purity  Shakespeare 
defines,  whose  superior  littleness  Milton  has  demonized. 
Its  flame  kindled  at  the  storming  of  the  barricades  in  1789, 
burned  with  its  full  glory  at  Austerlitz,  paled  at  burning 
Moscow,  flickered  at  Waterloo,  arid  went  out  in  the  tempest 
at  St.  Helena. 

Yet  it  had  its  mission.  Forms,  dogmas,  bigotries,  and 
exploded  theories  clogged  the  wheels  of  civilization.  Con- 
servatism was  powerless.  Europe  clamored  for  a  reform. 
A  fanatic  appears.  The  sobs  of  a  discarded  wife,  the  death 
cry  of  a  poor  German  bookseller,  the  wail  of  nations  over 
their  dead  heroes  hymn  his  march  to  empire.  Armies  slept 
unsentineled.  Thrones  tottered,  Europe  trembled.  The 
world  wondered.  Then  came  Waterloo  ;  civilization  resumed 
its  joyful  march,  and  the  superior  littleness  of  Napoleon  had 
accomplished  its  mission. 

Percy  Shelley  was  one  of  the  few  great-hearted  men  the 
world  has  seen.  Endowed  with  a  subtile  purity  and  keen- 
ness of  intellect,  a  classic  beauty  of  expression,  a  yearning 
tenderness  towards  all  of  God's  creatures,  no  poet  appeals 
so  tenderly  to  our  love  for  the  pure,  the  beautiful,  the  true, 


NAPOLEON'S  AMBITION  AND  SHELLEY'S  DOUBT.     73 

to  our  respect  for  our  fellow-men,  to  our  heartfelt  charity  for 
human  weakness,  as  Shelley.  And  yet  the  blue  Mediterra- 
nean chanted  a  troubled  requiem,  when  the  light  of  his  life 
went  out  in  its  waters.  The  sunny  Italian  sky  looked  grimly 
down  when  the  sea  sang  hoarsely  to  rest  her  laureate. 

Doubt  was  the  littleness  of  Shelley.  At  the  foot  of  Mont 
Blanc,  under  the  shadow  of  its  awful  presence,  within  sight 
of  its  eternal  snows,  within  hearing  of  its  sweeping  ava- 
lanches, the  startled  traveler  sees  written  on  the  face  of  the 
living  rock  :  "  P.  Shelley,  Atheist."  Atheist !  and  the  sub- 
lime reverence  of  every  snow-capped  summit  acknowledging 
the  Creator.  Atheist !  and  the  breathless  solitude,  unbroken 
save  by  the  anthems  of  the  avalanches,  thrilling  with  divin- 
ity. No  God !  and  he  a  child  of  nature,  a  lover  of  the  sim- 
plest flower,  a  worshiper  of  the  tiniest  bird.  An  infidel 
philanthropist !  and  God  alone  the  source  of  love.  A  doubt- 
ing reformer !  and  right  triumphing  only  through  faith  in 
the  infinite. 

Mythology  has  it  that  Achilles,  when  a  child,  was  dipped 
by  his  mother  in  the  Styx  to  render  him  invulnerable. 
Through  her  oversight,  however,  a  Greek  hero,  who  had 
passed  through  countless  battles  unharmed,  perished  at  last 
from  a  wound  in  the  heel.  So  Mother  Nature  may  immerse 
her  children  in  the  water  of  a  pure  humanity,  thinking  to 
render  them  invulnerable  to  the  attacks  of  littleness  ;  but 
because  of  her  mistake  she  will  see  the  world's  great  battle- 
field strewn  with  her  dead. 


74  THE    NEW    CENTURY    SPEAKER. 

THE  NEGRO  IN  AMERICAN  HISTORY. 

FRANK  F.  LAIRD. 

IT  is  an  August  day,  1620.  A  Dutch  man-of-war  has 
just  anchored  in  the  James  River.  A  boat  leaves  the  vessel, 
and  as  it  approaches  the  little  village  on  the  right,  the  eager 
watchers  on  the  beach  catch  a  glimpse  of  its  occupants,  —  a 
group  of  captives. 

Thus  opens  the  sad  chapter  that  saddens  every  other 
chapter  of  our  history.  True,  for  nearly  two  hundred  years 
the  threatening  shadow  of  the  great  wrong  of  slavery  falls 
but  lightly  on  the  pages  of  the  new  world's  annals.  Yet  it 
is  always  there,  —  a  present  rebuke,  a  future  menace.  For 
thirty  years  the  little  band  of  Abolitionists  exhausted  argu- 
ment, appeal,  denunciation.  Politicians  were  bribed  to 
silence,  free  speech  was  muzzled,  the  pulpit  timorous  or 
antagonistic,  the  press  powerless.  But  justice  could  not  be 
stifled,  and  civil  war  began. 

Tradition  tells  us  of  a  blind  old  king  who,  unable  to  fight, 
rode  into  the  thickest  of  the  fray  and  fell ;  and  when  the 
victors  unfurled  the  tattered  banner  they  found  these  words: 
"  I  serve."  Actuated  by  the  same  heroic  spirit,  the  negro 
responded  to  the  call  of  our  country.  Not  with  the  desper- 
ation of  a  patriot  holding  at  bay  the  tyrant  trampling  upon 
his  rights  —  for,  in  the  hour  of  our  great  need,  the  negro 
had  no  rights  in  the  land  which  he  defended  ;  not  with  the 
blind  enthusiasm  of  mere  soldiers  rushing  to  a  battle  whose 
great  aim  and  scope  they  little  cared  to  know  ;  but  with  an 
intelligent  loyalty  and  a  sublime  faith  in  the  ultimate  justice 
of  the  nation  that  kept  every  man  firm  in  his  place,  and  as 
true  to  his  duty  as  the  needle  to  the  pole. 

On  the  morning  of  the  2Qth  of  September,  1864,  the 
enemy  held  New  Market  Heights,  on  the  north  side  of  the 


THE    NEGRO    IN    AMERICAN    HISTORY.  75 

James  River.  On  the  plain  below,  by  the  side  of  that  river, 
at  whose  mouth,  nearly  two  and  a  half  centuries  before,  had 
landed  the  first  American  slave,  is  an  army  of  three  thousand 
colored  troops.  Clear  and  distinct  rings  out  the  order  : 
"  That  fort  must  be  taken  by  the  might  of  your  column  ;  no 
shot  must  be  fired  ;  your  watchword  shall  be :  '  Remember 
Fort  Pillow.'  Forward  !  March  !  "  Steadily  they  advance  till 
within  one  hundred  yards  of  the  fortress,  when  a  murderous 
fire  rains  upon  their  column.  The  first  line  gives  way,  the 
second  takes  its  place,  and  over  the  bodies  of  its  fallen  com- 
rades presses  on  to  victory.  But  again  comes  that  terrible 
fire.  The  colored  sergeant  advances  —  reels  —  falls.  He 
regains  his  feet,  and,  summoning  all  his  remaining  strength, 
he  shouts  :  "  Come  on,  my  boys,  a  little  further  ..."  That 
sentence  is  never  ended  ;  the  boy  falls  mortally  wounded. 
With  his  last  dying  breath  he  gasps  :  "  Place  the  old  flag  on 
the  heights."  The  line  rushes  forward  with  a  yell,  and  the 
enemy  never  stop  running  for  four  miles. 

Hepworth  Dixon  once  said  :  "  In  a  fight  one  white  man 
is  worth  ten  negroes.  The  blacks  will  never  stand  fire." 
Ah,  Mr.  Dixon,  you  must  have  forgotten  San  Domingo  and 
her  negro  hero ;  forgotten  that  little  color  bearer  who  in  the 
thickest  of  the  fight  said  he  would  "  carry  the  old  rag  till  he 
fell";  forgotten  Port  Hudson,  Battery  Wagner,  and  New 
Market  Heights. 

And  now  that  through  a  nation's  blood  and  struggles  the 
negro  has  been  emancipated  and  enfranchised,  need  it  be 
said  that  he  must  be  protected  and  educated  in  his  rights  as 
a  citizen  ?  This  is  the  warning  which  Theodore  Parker 
once  said  :  "  The  shadows  of  the  empires  buried  long  ago 
would  send  back  from  the  inferno  of  the  nations  to  our 
young  republic  :  '  Tell  him  that  justice  is  the  unchangeable, 
everlasting  will  to  give  each  man  his  rights.  I  knew  it  — 
broke  it,  and  am  lost ;  bid  him  keep  it  and  be  saved.'  ' 


/6  THE    NEW    CENTURY    SPEAKER. 

THE  NEW  ENGLANDER  IN  HISTORY. 

H.  L.  WAYLAND. 

THE  honored  daughter  of  Connecticut,  the  author  of 
Uncle  Tom  and  Dred,  has  said  :  "  What  is  called  good- 
ness is  often  only  want  of  force."  A  good  man,  according 
to  the  popular  idea,  is  one  who  does  not  get  in  anybody's 
way.  A  man  who  is  dead  is  out  of  the  way.  We  live  in 
the  home  which  he  built,  and  are  not  disturbed  by  the  chips 
and  sawdust  and  noise,  and  perhaps  the  casualties  and  mis- 
takes, which  attended  its  building.  I  will  offer  a  definition, 
without  charge,  to  the  editors  of  the  magnificent  Century 
Dictionary :  "  Saint,  a  man  with  convictions  who  has  been 
dead  a  hundred  years  ;  canonized  now,  cannonaded  then." 

We  are  building  monuments  now  to  the  Abolitionists.  It 
is  quite  possible  that  when  a  hundred  winters  shall  have 
shed  their  snows  upon  the  lowly  grave  at  North  Elba,  the 
Old  Dominion  will  take  pride  in  the  fact  that  she  for  a  little 
while  gave  a  home  to  the  latest,  I  trust  not  the  last,  of  the 
Puritans.  And  so  it  is  quite  possible  that  the  traveler  in 
1959,  as  he  goes  through  Harper's  Ferry,  may  see  upon  the 
site  of  the  old  Engine  House,  looking  out  upon  the  regener- 
ate commonwealth,  cunningly  graven  in  bronze,  copied  per- 
haps from  the  bust  in  your  own  Union  League,  the  undaunted 
features  of  John  Brown  ;  and  the  South  that  is  to  be,  stand- 
ing uncovered  beside  the  grave  of  the  Union  soldier,  will 
say  :  "  It  was  for  us,  too,  that  he  died,"  and  will  render  beside 
the  tomb  of  the  capital  city  of  Illinois  a  reverence  akin  to 
that  which  she  pays  amid  the  shades  of  Mt.  Vernon. 

I  pass  over  the  time,  two  centuries  ago,  when  Cromwell 
and  Hampden,  those  New  Englanders  who  had  never  seen 
New  England,  made  themselves  exceedingly  offensive  to 
Charles  I,  and  gave  him  at  last  a  practical  lesson  touching 


THE    NEW     ENGLANDER    IN    HISTORY.  77 

the  continuity  of  the  spinal  column.  Later,  when  our  fellow- 
citizens  desired  to  "  wallop  their  own  niggers  "  and  to  carry 
the  patriarchal  institutions  wherever  the  American  flag  went, 
they  were  naturally  irritated  at  hearing  that  there  was  a 
handful  of  meddling  fanatics  down  in  Essex  County  who,  in 
their  misguided  and  malevolent  ingenuity,  had  invented  what 
they  called  liberty  and  human  rights. 

Presently,  when  it  was  proposed  to  break  up  the  Union 
in  order  to  insure  the  perpetuity  of  slavery,  then  a  man, 
plain  of  speech,  rude  of  garb,  descended  from  the  Lincolns 
of  Hingham  in  Plymouth  County,  sounded  a  rally  for  union 
and  freedom.  And  hark !  there  is  the  tramp,  tramp  of  the 
fishermen  from  Marblehead ;  there  are  the  Connecticut  boys 
from  old  Litchfield ;  and  there  is  the  First  Rhode  Island  ; 
and  there  are  the  sailors  from  Casco  Bay ;  and  the  farmers' 
sons  from  old  Coos  and  from  along  the  Union  River,  their 
hearts  beating  with  the  enthusiasm  of  liberty,  while  their 
steps  keep  pace  with  the  drumbeat  that  salutes  the  national 
flag. 

And  see  !  is  that  a  thunder  cloud  in  the  North  ?  No;  it 
is  the  Fifty-fourth  Massachusetts,  made  up  of  American 
citizens  of  African  descent,  officered  by  the  best  blood  in 
Suffolk,  and  at  their  head  Robert  Gould  Shaw,  going  down 
to  die  in  the  trenches  before  Fort  Wagner.  And  there  is 
the  man,  descended  from  the  Shermans  of  Connecticut, 
preparing  for  the  march  which  is  to  cleave  the  Confederacy 
in  twain.  And  there  is  the  silent  man,  eight  generations 
removed  from  Matthew  Grant,  who  landed  at  Dorchester  in 
1630,  destined  to  make  the  continent  secure  for  liberty,  and 
to  inaugurate  the  New  South,  dating  from  Appomattox,  with 
traditions  of  freedom  teeming  with  a  prosperity  rivaling  that 
of  New  England,  a  prosperity  begotten  of  the  marriage  of 
labor  and  intelligence. 


78  THE    NEW    CENTURY    SPEAKER. 

THE  OPENING  OF  THE  MISSISSIPPI  IN  1862. 

WILLIAM  E.  LEWIS. 

RISING  in  the  pine  forests  of  the  North,  gathering  with 
far  extending  arms  the  raindrops  of  a  half  continent,  a  royal 
river  seeks  the  sea.  The  rebellion  barred  this  river;  so  from 
the  beginning  of  our  civil  war  one  purpose  animated  the 
great  Northwest.  It  was  the  opening  of  the  Mississippi. 
"  On  to  Richmond !  "  was  the  battle  cry  of  the  East  ;  "  On 
to  New  Orleans!"  the  rallying  shout  of  the  West.  Said 
General  Sherman :  "  The  possession  of  the  Mississippi  is 
the  possession  of  America." 

On  the  1 4th  of  March,  1862,  our  fleet,  accompanied  by  a 
land  force  of  forty  thousand  infantry,  moved  southward. 
Forts  Henry  and  Donelson,  on  the  Tennessee  and  Cumber- 
land, had  been  stormed  and  mastered;  Columbus,  "the 
Gibraltar  of  the  West,"  evacuated.  Then  followed  other 
victories.  Besieged  Fort  Pillow  yielded ;  blustering  Mem- 
phis capitulated ;  the  Union  colors  floated  once  more  from 
the  Chickasaw  Bluffs;  and  on  the  ist  of  July  the  heroes  of 
Island  No.  10  and  New  Orleans  mingled  their  cheers  under 
the  battlements  of  Vicksburg. 

Let  us  glance  at  other  struggles  even  fiercer  and  grander 
which  consummated  this  meeting.  About  seventy  miles 
below  New  Orleans  stood  two  magnificent  fortresses  with 
bastions  and  casemates  of  solid  masonry.  Below,  an  immense 
chain  boom  locked  up  the  river.  Above,  to  make  New 
Orleans  secure,  to  preclude  the  possibility  of  ascent,  rams, 
gunboats,  and  fire  rafts  were  stationed.  "  No  fleet,"  said 
the  South,  "  can  pass  up  the  river  without  miraculous  inter- 
position." But  Farragut  was  undaunted.  "  I  came  here  to 
pass  or  reduce  the  forts  and  take  New  Orleans,"  he  said, 
"  and  I  shall  try  it." 


THE    OPENING    OF    THE    MISSISSIPPI    IN    1862.  79 

On  the  1 6th  of  April  the  mortar  boats  open  fire  on 
Fort  Jackson.  Thirteen-inch  shells  whirl  athwart  the  sky 
like  meteors.  Thrice  a  thousand  rise  from  forts  and  fleet 
before  evening  falls.  Four  days  of  dissonance  —  still  the 
bombardment  a  failure.  There  is  no  sign  of  yielding.  Far- 
ragut  resolves  on  a  desperate  course,  —  to  cut  the  cable,  run 
the  batteries,  capture  or  sink  the  rebel  navy,  and  subdue 
the  city.  A  midnight  attack  severed  the  boom. 

On  the  evening  of  April  23  all  is  in  readiness.  Up 
goes  the  signal  to  fall  into  line.  Guided  by  the  lurid 
glare  of  rebel  beacon  fires,  the  attacking  squadrons  breast 
the  current  in  three  columns.  The  forts  open  fire ;  as  the 
fleet  draws  near  they  become  volcanoes,  their  casemates 
crevices  of  continuous  flame.  The  foremost  vessel,  the 
Cayuga,  steams  toward  the  break  in  the  boom,  encounters  a 
volley  of  red-hot  shot ;  reels  ;  recovers ;  dashes  through  the 
chasm.  One  by  one  the  armada  follows.  Now  abreast, 
now  above  the  forts.  The  pilots  see  beyond  a  gleam  of 
light.  It  grows  brighter.  What  is  this  new  danger  ?  A 
river  all  aflame  !  Turn  back  ?  Repass  the  batteries  ? 
Never!  "Close  action  !"  signals  the  Hartford,  and  leads 
the  way.  Nearer  and  nearer  come  the  fire  rafts.  Higher 
and  higher  rise  their  billows  of  flame.  The  ram  Manassas 
crowds  a  blazing  raft  against  the  flagship.  Fiery  flames  lick 
the  deck,  leap  up  into  the  rigging,  and  envelop  the  frigate. 
Ashore  and  afire,  sorely  beset,  yet  her  commander  does  not 
despair.  The  pumps  are  manned.  The  boarding  flames 
are  repelled.  The  Manassas  is  beaten  off,  and  the  "  good 
old  Hartford"  dashes  once  more  into  the  thickest  of  the 
fight. 

Who  can  recount  the  heroic  achievements  of  that  eventful 
night?  How  the  Brooklyn  swept  through  the  fight,  all 
aglow  with  incessant  broadsides  !  How  the  Varuna  dashed 
into  the  midst  of  the  enemy,  fired  her  last  shot,  and  went 


8O  THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

down  in  the  turbid  waters,  —  a  fit  casket  for  her  noble  dead. 
Titanic  the  conflict,  decisive  the  victory.  The  rebel  squad- 
ron is  destroyed,  the  strongholds  and  city  are  conquered, 
the  river  is  speedily  opened  to  Vicksburg. 

The  opening  of  the  Mississippi  terminated  a  crisis  in  the 
war.  The  North  gained  needed  inspiration  ;  the  South 
stood  paralyzed  before  this  omen  of  final  defeat.  The 
possession  of  the  Mississippi  was  indeed  the  possession  of 
America. 


THE  ORATOR'S  CAUSE. 

JOHN  D.  WRIGHT. 

IT  is  the  popular  cry  now  that  the  age  of  orators  has 
passed  in  America.  I  tell  you  that  there  is  enough  true 
eloquence  running  latent  in  business  and  professional  chan- 
nels to  shake  this  mighty  nation  to  its  very  roots. 

I  rejoice  at  this  seeming  lack  of  orators.  It  is  the  most 
flattering  sign  of  the  peace  and  prosperity  of  these  United 
States.  Look  over  the  world  to-day,  or  look  into  history, 
and  tell  me  at  what  periods  nations  have  been  renowned  for 
their  orators.  Is  it  when  their  course  was  one  of  peaceful 
prosperity  ?  Far  from  it  !  In  our  own  land  it  was  the  days 
of  the  Revolution,  of  the  anti-slavery  struggle,  and  of  the  great 
war  that  freed  the  bondsmen.  Why  are  the  Irish  a  race  of 
orators  ?  It  is  a  pitiful  answer.  Because  for  centuries  there 
have  been  tyranny  and  oppression  goading  them  on  to  des- 
perate protests,  forcing  them  to  plead,  and  compelling  them 
to  threaten.  Because  this  tyranny  has  left  no  place  for 
him  to  speak  who  does  not  utterly  forget  himself,  and  thus 
become  the  living  mouthpiece  of  the  men  and  principles 
that  he  represents. 


THE  ORATOR'S  CAUSE.  81 

But  never,  perhaps,  in  the  history  of  the  world  has  elo- 
quence produced  more  marvelous  results  than  did  that  of 
Mr.  Beecher  in  his  brief  anti-slavery  campaign  in  England. 
It  was  a  question  of  Parliament  declaring  for  the  Southern 
Confederacy,  and  you  know  what  that  meant.  A  vast  mul- 
titude had  gathered  in  Philharmonic  Hall,  Liverpool,  where 
Mr.  Beecher  was  to  speak.  There  were  many  desperate 
men  there  that  night  who  were  determined  that  he  should 
not  be  heard.  Men  came  armed,  and  certain  bold  friends 
of  the  North,  going  into  the  boxes,  drew  their  revolvers  and 
said  :  "  The  man  who  shoots  here  first  shall  rue  it."  There 
stood  Mr.  Beecher,  perfectly  calm  and  self-possessed,  amid 
this  frightful  tumult.  He  had  been  told  that  his  life  was  in 
danger,  but  on  his  knees,  in  the  quiet  of  his  chamber,  he 
had  yielded  himself  absolutely  to  his  God  and  to  the  cause 
of  the  slave. 

For  an  hour  and  a  half  he  battled  with  that  vast  assembly. 
The  hissing  and  abuse  made  the  blood  course  through  his 
veins  like  molten  lead,  and  when  he  at  last  gained  control 
there  poured  forth  a  mighty  torrent  of  eloquence  that  swept 
all  before  it;  and  at  the  vote  the  "  Ayes  "  came  out  like  the 
roaring  of  the  sea.  Was  it  the  man  who  conquered  that 
audience  ?  Yes ;  but  the  eternal  principles  of  right,  justice, 
and  equality  had  conquered  and  inspired  the  man.  There 
was  no  resisting  the  mighty  force  that  stood  behind  him. 
He  spoke  for  the  freedom  of  three  millions  of  slaves;  aye,  for 
the  freedom  of  the  world  from  the  bonds  which  stopped  its 
progress.  Mr.  Beecher  outdid  himself  that  night.  There 
were  depths  and  heights  in  his  nature  unsuspected  till  this 
crisis  revealed  them. 

Once  in  the  course  of  a  sermon  he  told  the  story  of  a 
feudal  knight,  far  back  in  the  dark  ages,  who,  owning  two 
castles  on  opposite  sides  of  a  deep  gorge,  conceived  the  idea 
of  making  a  huge  ^Eolian  harp  by  stretching  from  castle  to 


82  THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

castle  great  wires.  He  did  so.  The  winds  came,  but  no 
music  broke  the  silence  ;  and  the  people  in  the  valley 
laughed  at  the  prince.  Years  passed.  At  length  one  night 
there  arose  a  mighty  tempest.  The  turrets  rocked  to  and 
fro.  Desolation  threatened,  but  as  the  terrible  blast  swept 
over  the  great  iron  wires  the  huge  harp  burst  forth  into  har- 
mony, and  far  down  in  the  sheltered  valley  the  villagers 
heard  the  wonderful  melody,  and  thought  it  was  the  choir 
of  heaven.  So  that  night,  as  the  storm  of  hisses  and  yells 
swept  over  the  orator's  soul,  great  chords  were  set  vibrating 
which  only  a  tempest  could  move. 

And  so  it  is  that  far  down  in  the  depths  of  a  man's  nature 
are  hidden  chords,  which  can  only  break  forth  into  music 
when  all  self  has  been  swept  away,  and  the  great  rough  hand 
of  some  momentous  crisis  is  drawn  harshly  over  them. 


THE  PATHOS  OF  THACKERAY  AND  DICKENS. 

JULIEN  M.  ELLIOTT. 

"  THACKERAY  had  no  heart/'  says  popular  criticism.  "  In 
cutting  satire  his  stroke  was  keen  and  true  to  the  mark,  but 
in  large-heartedness  and  pathos  he  must  yield  to  his  brother 
author,  the  sympathetic  Dickens."  But  all  will  not  agree 
with  the  popular  critic.  Many  a  reader  recalls  too  vividly 
the  page  at  which  the  eye  has  moistened  and  the  pulse 
gained  a  thicker  throb  to  say  that  Thackeray  was  inferior 
to  Dickens  in  power  of  pathos. 

Unlike  the  pathos  of  Dickens,  that  of  Thackeray  borrows 
but  little  aid  from  the  subject.  He  calls  for  our  tears  when 
the  theme  would  seem  to  awaken  no  emotion  of  sympathy  or 
love.  Such  is  the  pathos  of  the  closing  lines  of  his  lecture 


THE    PATHOS    OF    THACKERAY    AND    DICKENS.          83 

on  George  III.  As  we  read  of  the  poor,  deranged,  blind, 
old  monarch  "  driven  off  his  throne,  buffeted  by  rude  hands, 
with  his  children  in  revolt,  the  darling  of  his  old  age  killed 
before  him  untimely  "  —even  we  Americans,  born  and  bred, 
lay  aside  our  prejudice  and  hate  to  say  "Amen"  to  the 
appeal :  "  O  brothers  !  speaking  the  same  dear  mother  tongue  ! 
O  comrades  !  enemies  no  more,  let  us  take  a  mournful  hand 
together,  as  we  stand  by  this  royal  corpse,  and  cry  a  truce 
to  battle!  Hush !  Strife  and  quarrel  over  a  solemn  grave  ! 
Sound,  trumpets,  a  mournful  march  !  Fall,  dark  curtain, 
upon  his  pageant,  his  pride,  his  grief,  his  awful  tragedy." 

Dickens,  with  his  tastes  as  an  actor,  too  often  makes  the 
pathos  of  his  scenes  depend  on  the  telling  effects  of  the 
stage,  —  the  turning  down  of  the  lights  and  the  slow  music 
of  the  melodrama.  Thackeray,  artist  as  he  was,  sought  no 
applause  from  an  admiring  crowd  by  any  such  daubs  or 
glaring  colors.  When  the  death  of  George  Osborne  was  to 
be  told,  a  Dickens  or  a  Hugo,  to  heighten  the  dramatic 
effect  and  deepen  the  pathos,  would  have  sought  to  make 
terribly  real  the  horrors  of  the  field  of  Waterloo.  We 
should  have  heard  the  hoofs  of  the  horse  at  full  trot  striking 
on  the  ground,  the  rattling  of  musketry,  the  clanking  of 
sabers,  the  wild  shouts  for  King  George  or  of  Vive  PEm- 
pereur,  and  the  still  wilder  cry  of  despair,  as  "  rider  and 
horse  rush  headlong  into  the  death-waiting  ravine,  rolled 
together  pellmell,  grinding  each  other,  making  common 
flesh  in  the  dreadful  gulf."  Then  we  should  have  seen  the 
retreat,  the  dead  and  dying,  and  George  Osborne  suffering  all 
that  gives  sadness  and  terror  to  a  death  on  a  field  of  battle. 

But  nothing  of  this  in  Thackeray.  One  stroke  of  the  pen- 
cil, and  the  story  is  told,  —  "  The  pursuit  rolled  miles  away. 
Darkness  came  down  on  the  field  and  city,  and  Amelia  was 
praying  for  George,  who  was  lying  on  the  field  dead,  with  a 
bullet  through  his  heart." 


84  THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

When  the  chapter  describing  the  death  of  Paul  Dombey 
was  read  for  the  first  time  by  Thackeray  he  said  :  "  There 
is  no  use  writing  against  such  power  as  this  —  one  has  no 
chance."  Inimitable,  indeed,  is  Dickens'  description  of  the 
death  of  little  Paul.  Yet  Thackeray  has  sketched  a  scene 
no  less  powerful  in  pathos.  It  is  the  death  of  Helen  Pen- 
dennis,  —  "  The  moon  had  risen  by  this  time ;  and  Arthur 
recollected  well,  afterwards,  how  it  lighted  up  his  mother's 
s-weet,  pale  face.  ...  As  they  were  talking  the  clock  struck 
nine,  and  Helen  reminded  him  how,  when  he  was  a  little  boy, 
she  used  to  go  up  to  his  bedroom  at  that  hour,  and  hear  him 
say  '  Our  Father.'  And  once  more,  O,  once  more,  the  young 
man  fell  down  at  his  mother's  sacred  knees,  and  sobbed  out 
the  prayer  which  the  Divine  Tenderness  uttered  for  us,  and 
which  has  been  echoed  for  twenty  ages  since  by  millions  of 
sinful  and  humbled  men.  As  he  spoke  the  last  words  of  the 
supplication,  the  mother's  head  fell  down  on  her  boy's ;  her 
arms  closed  around  him,  and  together  they  repeated  the 
words  *  Forever  and  ever '  and  '  Amen.'  '  The  sainted 
woman  was  dead. 

Thackeray  a  cynic,  a  man  who  "  had  no  heart,  no  love  for 
his  kind  "  ?  No  !  No  !  An  apostle,  rather,  a  God-sent  man, 
with  a  God-given  power  to  reclaim  from  evil  and  lead  to 
worthier  things,  holier  aims,,  and  a  purer  life. 


POETRY    THE    LANGUAGE    OF    SYMBOLISM.  85 

POETRY  THE  LANGUAGE  OF  SYMBOLISM. 

F.  W.  ROBERTSON. 

POETRY  is  not  imagination,  but  imagination  shaped.  Not 
feeling,  but  feeling  expressed  symbolically.  The  form  of 
poetry,  therefore,  may  be  that  of  symbolic  action.  Perhaps 
you  have  read  the  anecdote  of  the  Earl  of  Warwick  in  one 
of  his  last  battles,  probably  that  of  Earner,  when  he  found 
the  day  going  against  him.  Dismounting  from  his  favorite 
charger,  before  all  his  army  he  plunges  his  sword  into  its 
heart.  By  this  act  he  cuts  off  the  possibility  of  escape  and 
expresses  his  resolve  there  to  win  or  fall.  Conceive  Warwick 
putting  that  into  direct  words.  Conceive  his  attempting  to 
express  all  that  was  implied  in  that  act,  —  the  energy  of 
despair,  the  resolve,  the  infinite  defiance  ;  ancf  conceive  then 
the  influence  upon  the  troops,  —  how  it  must  have  said  to 
any  recreant  waverer  in  the  ranks  :  "  Stand  like  a  man  and 
dare  to  die  !  " 

No  less  is  the  language  of  strong  emotion  always  figura- 
tive, symbolic,  and  rich  in  metaphors.  Therefore,  we  are 
all  susceptible  of  its  influences.  Hence  a  man  who  thinks 
he  has  no  taste  for  poetry,  because  he  does  not  chance  to 
feel  it  in  one  of  its  forms,  rhythmic  words,  is  yet  no  stranger 
to  its  power.  Why  is  it  that  on  the  battlefield  there  is  ever 
one  spot  where  the  sabers  glitter  faster,  and  the  pistol's 
flash  is  more  frequent,  and  men  and  officers  crowd  together 
in  denser  masses  ?  They  are  struggling  for  a  flag  or  an 
eagle  or  a  standard.  Strip  it  of  its  symbolism,  take  from  it 
the  meaning  with  which  the  imagination  has  invested  it,  and 
it  is  nothing  but  a  bit  of  silk  rag,  torn  with  shot  and  black- 
ened with  powder.  Now  go,  with  your  common  sense,  and 
tell  the  soldier  he  is  madly  striving  about  a  bit  of  rag.  See 
if  your  common  sense  is  as  true  to  him  as  his  poetry. 


86  THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

Among  the  achievements  of  Sir  Charles  Napier  was  his 
subjugation  of  the  robber  tribes  of  the  Cutchee  Hills,  in  the 
north  of  Scinde.  Those  warriors  had  been  unsubdued  for 
six  hundred  years.  They  dwelt  iri  a  crater-like  valley,  sur- 
rounded by  mountains,  through  which  there  were  but  two 
or  three  narrow  entrances,  and  up  which  there  was  no  access 
but  by  goat  paths,  so  precipitous  that  brave  men  grew  dizzy 
and  could  not  proceed.  It  was  part  of  the  masterly  plan  by 
which  Sir  Charles  Napier  had  resolved  to  storm  the  strong- 
hold of  the  robbers,  to  cause  a  detachment  of  his  arms  to 
scale  the  mountain  side.  A  service  so  perilous  could  hardly 
be  commanded.  Volunteers  were  called  for. 

There  was  a  regiment,  the  64th  Bengal  Infantry,  which 
had  recently  been  disgraced  in  consequence  of  mutiny  at 
Shikarpoor,  their  colonel  cashiered,  and  their  colors  taken 
from  them.  A  hundred  of  these  men  volunteered.  "  Soldiers 
of  the  64th,"  said  the  commander,  who  knew  the  way  to  the 
soldier's  heart,  "  your  colors  are  on  the  top  of  yonder  hill  !  " 
I  should  like  to  have  seen  the  precipice  that  would  have 
deterred  the  64th  regiment  after  words  like  those  from  the 
lips  of  the  conqueror  of  Scinde  ! 

And,  now,  suppose  that  you  had  gone  with  common  sense 
and  economic  science,  and  proved  to  them  that  the  colors 
they  were  risking  their  lives  to  win  back  were  worth  but  so 
many  shillings  value  —  tell  me,  which  would  the  stern 
workers  of  the  64th  regiment  have  found  it  easier  to  under- 
stand, common  sense  or  poetry  ?  Which  would  they  have 
believed,  Science  which  said,  "  It  is  manufactured  silk,"  or 
Imagination,  whose  kingly  voice  had  made  it  "  colors  "  ? 

It  is  in  this  sense  that  the  poet  has  been  called,  as  the 
name  imports,  creator,  namer,  maker.  He  stamps  his  own 
feeling  on  a  form  or  symbol,  names  it,  and  makes  it  what  it 
was  not  before,  giving  to  feeling  a  local  habitation  and  a 
name  by  associating  it  with  form. 


A    PLEA    FOR    ENTHUSIASM.  87 

A  PLEA  FOR  ENTHUSIASM. 

(Anonymous.) 

No  power  so  completely  sways  the  hearts  and  wills  of 
mankind  as  that  of  enthusiasm.  History  is  but  a  chronicle 
of  the  results  of  enthusiasm,  —  the  enthusiasm  of  individuals, 
the  enthusiasm  of  sects,  the  enthusiasm  of  nations.  With- 
out its  inspiration,  how  life  itself  would  lose  its  interest,  its 
power.  What  is  it  but  enthusiasm  which  marks  one  wide 
difference  between  the  brute  and  the  man  ?  The  brute  eats, 
sleeps,  and  dies.  These  three  words  cover  the  whole  range 
of  its  existence.  Man,  on  the  other  hand,  has  motives, 
hopes,  aspirations.  By  these  every  act  of  his  life  is  influ- 
enced. These  give  him  energy,  courage,  faith,  purpose,  —  in 
a  word,  enthusiasm.  And  what  is  the  result  ?  Why,  increas- 
ing activities  mark  his  days  and  years,  and  it  is  this  growth 
and  gain  that  constitute  true  life. 

An  army  was  in  full  retreat.  The  enemy  had  surprised, 
attacked,  and  routed  them.  Panic-stricken,  they  were  turn- 
ing from  the  battlefield  in  headlong  flight.  Men  threw 
aside  their  guns,  their  knapsacks,  anything  that  hindered 
their  escape.  Horse  and  foot  were  mingled  in  wild  confu- 
sion. All  was  in  terror  and  dismay.  Suddenly  the  foremost 
beholds  dashing  down  the  road  toward  them  a  black  horse 
and  his  rider ;  the  rider  waves  his  sword,  and  they  hear  the 
command  :  "  Halt  !  "  Catching  the  fire  of  his  eye,  they  turn 
and  reform  ;  and  as  General  Sheridan  rides  swiftly  down  the 
lines  the  men  greet  him  with  loud  and  hearty  cheers.  And 
now,  as  if  swayed  by  one  mighty  impulse,  those  lines  of  blue 
that  but  a  moment  before  were  flying  terror-stricken,  turn 
fiercely  upon  the  enemy,  wrest  the  victory  from  their  hands, 
and  drive  them  in  utter  rout  from  the  field.  The  tide  of 
victory  is  turned ;  the  day  is  saved.  What  was  the  power, 


88  THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

the  influence,  that  was  able  to  transform  defeat  into  victory? 
Was  it  anything  else  than  the  spirit  of  enthusiasm  in  the 
great  leader  himself,  kindling  a  like  spirit  into  flame  in 
the  hearts  of  his  men  ? 

Enthusiasm  recognizes  no  obstacle,  and  knows  not  the 
word  failure.  There  is  a  legend  of  a  man  who  came  up 
against  a  king.  The  king  had  a  force  of  thirty  thousand 
men,  and  when  he  learned  that  this  general  had  only  five 
hundred,  he  sent  a  messenger  to  him  offering  to  'treat  him 
and  his  followers  mercifully  if  they  would  surrender.  The 
general  turned  to  one  near  him,  and  said  :  "  Take  that  dagger 
and  drive  it  to  your  heart ";  the  man  did  so  and  fell  dead  at 
his  commander's  feet.  Turning  to  another,  he  said :  "  Leap 
into  yonder  chasm  " ;  the  man  obeyed,  and  was  dashed  to 
pieces  on  the  rocks  below.  Then  said  he  to  the  messenger  : 
"  Go  tell  your  king  that  I  have  five  hundred  such  men.  Tell 
him  that  we  may  die,  but  we  shall  never  surrender."  The 
messenger  returned ;  his  story  struck  terror  into  the  heart 
of  that  king  and  so  demoralized  his  troops  that  they  were 
scattered  like  chaff  before  the  winds.  That  is  the  power 
of  enthusiasm.  "  We  may  die,  but  we  never  surrender." 

Look  through  history  and  note  its  influence.  See  in 
religion,  in  literature,  in  science,  in  art,  in  everything  to 
which  man  has  put  his  hand  this  spirit  working  its  results 
and  bringing  success.  O  you  who  are  decrying  enthusiasm, 
calling  it  zeal  without  knowledge,  know  you  not  the  meaning 
of  that  word—  "God  in  us  "  ?  Find  quickly  the  object  to 
which  you  will  devote  your  life  ;  let  it  be  right,  let  it  be 
worthy,  and  then  give  yourself  to  it  with  all  your  God-given 
powers.  "  God  in  us";  and  what  is  God  himself  but  an 
endless  activity  ever  working,  never  ceasing?  The  farthei 
we  are  removed  from  the  brute  and  the  nearer  we  approach 
the  divinity  within  us,  the  more  shall  we  be  moved  by  the 
spirit  of  enthusiasm. 


THE    RACE,    FROM    "BEN    HUR."  89 

THE  RACE,  FROM  "BEN  HUR." 

LEW  WALLACE. 

THE  preparations  were  now  complete.  Straightway  the 
stir  of  the  people  and  the  hum  of  their  conversation  died 
away.  Every  face  near  by  and  every  face  in  the  lessening 
perspective  turned  to  the  east,  as  all  eyes  settled  upon  the 
gates  of  the  six  stalls  which  shut  in  the  competitors. 

The  trumpet  sounded  short  and  sharp.  Forth  from  each 
stall,  like  missiles  in  a  volley  from  so  many  great  guns, 
rushed  the  six  fours  ;  and  up  the  vast  assemblage  arose, 
electrified  and  irrepressible,  and,  leaping  upon  the  benches, 
filled  the  Circus  and  the  air  above  it  with  yells  and  screams. 
The  arena  swam  in  a  dazzle  of  light ;  yet  each  driver  looked 
first  for  the  rope,  then  for  the  coveted  inner  line.  So,  all 
six  aiming  at  the  same  point  and  speeding  furiously,  a  col- 
lision seemed  inevitable.  Nothing  daunted,  the  Roman 
shook  out  his  long  lash,  loosed  the  reins,  leaned  forward, 
and,  with  a  triumphant  shout,  took  the  wall. 

"  Jove  with  us  !  Jove  with  us  !  "  yelled  all  the  Roman 
faction,  in  a_frenzy  of  delight.  The  race  was  on  ;  the  souls 
of  the  racers  were  in  it  ;  over  them  bent  the  myriads. 

For  a  moment  Ben  Hur  was  half-blinded  by  the  light  in 
the  arena;  yet  he  managed  to  catch  sight  of  his  antagonists 
and  divine  their  purpose.  At  Messala,  who  was  more  than 
an  antagonist  to  him,  he  gave  one  searching  look.  He  saw 
the  soul  of  the  man,  as  through  a  glass,  cruel,  cunning, 
desperate.  In  a  time  not  longer  than  was  required  to  turn 
to  his  four  again  Ben  Hur  felt  his  own  resolution  harden  to 
a  like  temper.  At  whatever  cost,  he  would  humble  this 
enemy !  Yet  there  was  no  passion,  no  blinding  rush  of 
heated  blood  from  heart  to  brain  and  back  again.  He  had 
his  plan,  and  he  settled  to  the  task,  never  more  observant, 
never  more  capable. 


gO  THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

Ben  Hur  yielded  the  wall  for  the  time.  He  drew  head  to 
the  right,  and  with  all  the  speed  of  his  Arabs  darted  across 
the  trails  of  his  opponents,  and  took  the  course  neck  and 
neck  with  Messala.  And  now,  racing  together  side  by  side, 
a  narrow  interval  between  them,  the  two  neared  the  second 
goal.  "Down,  Eros  !  up,  Mars  !"  Messala  shouted,  whirling 
his  lash  with  practiced  hand.  "  Down,  Eros  !  up,  Mars  !  "  he 
repeated,  and  caught  the  well-doing  Arabs  of  Ben  Hur  a 
cut  the  like  of  which  they  had  never  known.  Then,  invol- 
untarily, down  from  the  balcony,  as  thunder  falls,  burst  the 
indignant  cry  of  the  people.  The  four  sprang  forward  as 
with  one  impulse,  and  forward  leaped  the  car.  Where  got 
Ben  Hur  the  large  hand  and  mighty  grip  which  helped  him 
now  so  well  ?  Where  but  from  the  oar  with  which  so  long 
he  fought  the  sea  ?  And  what  was  this  spring  of  the  floor 
under  his  feet  to  the  dizzy,  eccentric  lurch  with  which  in  the 
old  time  the  trembling  ship  yielded  to  the  beat  of  staggering 
billows,  drunk  with  their  power? 

So  he  kept  his  place,  and  gave  the  four  free  rein  ;  and 
before  the  fever  of  the  people  began  to  abate  he  had  back 
the  mastery.  Nor  that  only  ;  on  approaching  the  first  goal, 
he  was  again  side  by  side  with  Messala,  bearing  with  him 
the  sympathy  and  admiration  of  every  one  not  a  Roman. 
"  Ben  Hur  !  Ben  Hur  !  "  they  shouted.  "  Speed  thee, 
Jew  !  "  "  Take  the  wall  now !  "  "  On  !  Loose  the  Arabs  ! 
Give  them  rein  and  scourge  !  "  Either  he  did  not  hear  or 
could  not  do  better,  for  halfway  round  the  course  and  he 
was  still  following. 

And  now,  to  make  the  turn,  Messala  began  to  draw  in  his 
left-hand  steeds.  His  spirit  was  high  ;  more  than  one  altar 
was  richer  of  his  vows  ;  the  Roman  genius  was  still  presi- 
dent. On  the  three  pillars  only  six  hundred  feet  away  were 
fame,  increase  of  fortune,  promotions,  and  a  triumph  ineffa- 
bly sweetened  by  hate,  all  in  store  for  him  !  .  That  moment 


THE    RACE,    FROM    "BEN    HUR."  9 1 

Ben  Hur  leaned  forward  over  his  Arabs,  and  gave  them  the 
reins.  Out  flew  the  many-folded  lash  in  his  hand  ;  over  the 
backs  of  the  startled  steeds  it  writhed  and  hissed,  and  hissed 
and  writhed  again  and  again  ;  and,  though  it  fell  not,  there 
were  both  sting  and  menace  in  its  quick  report ;  and  as  the 
man  passed  thus  from  quiet  to  resistless  action,  his  face  suf- 
fused, his  eyes  gleaming,  along  the  reins  he  seemed  to  flash 
his  will;  and  instantly  not  one,  but  the  four  as  one  answered 
with  a  leap  that  landed  them  alongside  the  Roman's  car. 
Messala,  on  the  perilous  edge  of  the  goal,  heard,  but  dared 
not  look  to  see  what  the  awakening  portended.  From  the 
people  he  received  no  sign.  Above  the  noises  of  the  race 
there  was  but  one  voice,  and  that  was  Ben  Hur's.  In  the 
old  Aramaic,  as  the  sheik  himself,  he  called  to  the  Arabs. 

"  On,  Atair  !  On,  Rigel  !  What,  Antares !  dost  thou 
linger  now  ?  Good  horse  —  oho,  Aldebaran  !  I  hear  them 
singing  in  the  tents.  I  hear  the  children  singing,  and  the 
women  —  singing  of  the  stars,  of  Atair,  Antares,  Rigel, 
Aldebaran,  victory  !  And  the  song  will  never  end.  Well 
done  !  Home  to-morrow,  under  the  black  tent  —  home  ! 
On,  Antares  !  The  tribe  is  waiting  for  us,  and  the  master 
is  waiting  !  'T  is  done  !  't  is  done  !  Ha,  ha  !  We  have 
overthrown  the  proud.  The  hand  that  smote  us  is  in  the 
dust.  Ours  the  glory  !  Ha,  ha  !  Steady  !  The  work  is 
done  —  soho  !  Rest  !  " 

The  thousands  on  the  benches  understood  it  all.  They 
saw  the  signal  given,  the  magnificent  response  ;  the  four 
close  outside  Messala's  outer  wheel,  Ben  Hur's  inner  wheel 
behind  the  other's  car  —  all  this  they  saw.  Then  they 
heard  a  crash  loud  enough  to  send  a  thrill  through  the 
Cirfcus,  and,  quicker  than  thought,  out  over  the  course  a 
spray  of  shining  white  and  yellow  flinders  flew.  Down  on 
its  right  side  toppled  the  bed  of  the  Roman's  chariot.  There 
was  a  rebound  as  of  the  axle  hitting  the  hard  earth ;  another 


Q2  THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

and   another ;  then  the  car  went  to   pieces,  and   Messala, 
entangled  in  the  reins,  pitched  forward  headlong. 

The  people  arose,  and  leaped  upon  the  benches,  and 
shouted  and  screamed.  Those  who  looked  that  way  caught 
glimpses  of  Messala,  now  under  the  trampling  of  the  fours, 
now  under  the  abandoned  cars.  He  was  still ;  they  thought 
him  dead  ;  but  far  the  greater  number  followed  Ben  Hur  in 
his  career.  They  had  not  seen  the  cunning  touch  of  the 
reins  by  which,  turning  a  little  to  the  left,  he  caught  Mes- 
sala's  wheel  with  the  iron-shod  point  of  his  axle,  and  crushed 
it  ;  but  they  had  seen  the  transformation  of  the  man,  and 
themselves  felt  the  heat  and  glow  of  his  spirit,  the  heroic 
resolution,  the  maddening  energy  of  action  with  which,  by 
look,  word,  and  gesture,  he  so  suddenly  inspired  his  Arabs. 
And  such  running  !  It  was  rather  the  long  leaping  of  lions 
in  harness  ;  but  for  the  lumbering  chariot,  it  seemed  the 
four  were  flying.  When  the  Byzantine  and  Corinthian  were 
halfway  down  the  course  Ben  Hur  turned  the  first  goal. 
And  the  race  was  WON  ! 

(Copyright,  1880,  by  Harper  and  Brothers.) 


THE  REALISM  OF  DICKENS. 

WILLIAM  A.  LATHROP. 

DID  you  ever  pause  before  a  painting  of  some  familiar  yet 
almost  forgotten  landscape,  so  real  and  so  distinct  that  you 
seemed  to  stand  among  its  scenes  ?  And  as  you  paused  did 
you  fancy  that  you  inhaled  the  perfume  of  its  meadows  and 
heard  the  hum  of  the  bees  among  its  flowers  ?  The  charm, 
the  power  of  that  picture  was  realism.  It  is  with  like  vivid 
pictures  that  realism  has  crowded  the  pages  of  literature. 

First  among  English  writers  who  have  this  power  is 
Charles  Dickens.  Look  upon  any  scene  as  he  paints  it, 


THE    REALISM    OF    DICKENS.  93 

and  you  will  recognize  his  right  to  be  called  the  master  of 
realism.  Perhaps  it  is  only  the  play  of  the  wind  as  it  frolics 
with  the  leaves;  as  it  whistles  through  the  arches  of  the 
tower  and  makes  the  old  beams  creak  and  groan;  as  it 
whisks  away  the  little  dust  heaps  from  the  rafters ;  or  as  it 
swings  to  and  fro  the  spiders  that  dangle  on  their  silken 
threads ;  and  shakes  the  swallows  in  their  nests  under  the 
eaves.  But  the  patient  detail,  the  fidelity  to  nature's  law 
have  made  it  something  more  than  a  description.  It  is  a 
wind  whose  frolic  we  have  laughed  at,  whose  power  we  have 
felt. 

But  it  is  not  in  nature  alone  that  the  realism  of  Dickens 
is  seen  at  its  best.  It  is  in  his  men  and  women.  They  live 
our  lives,  share  our  joys,  our  sorrows,  our  work.  His  heroes 
suffer  and  endure  not  as  heroes  in  the  world  of  romance, 
but  as  men  and  women  about  us  suffer  and  endure.  You 
will  see  this  power  in  his  humorous  Dick  Swiveller.  With 
his  insinuating  assurance,  wealth  of  promise,  and  poverty  of 
fulfillment,  he  is  as  real  as  the  last  good-natured  vagabond, 
who  cajoled  you  out  of  a  dollar  that  you  know  he  will  never 
pay.  So  is  the  hopeful  Micawber,  the  guileless  Pickwick, 
and  the  not  so  guileless  but  ever  faithful  Sam. 

But  the  ebb-tide  is  as  strong  as  the  flow,  and  the  realism 
of  Dickens  is  no  less  powerful  in  tragedy.  You  see  it  in  the 
•  life  of  the  convict,  mad  with  the  remembrance  of  a  life  of 
vice  and  profligacy,  plunging  into  the  Thames,  while  the 
glimmer  of  the  lights  in  the  water,  the  cry,  the  struggle,  the 
death  complete  the  picture.  You  see  it  in  the  flight  of 
the  murderer  with  the  ghastly  figure  of  his  victim. following 
closely  at  his  heels,  its  garments  rustling  in  the  leaves,  and 
"  every  breath  of  wind  laden  with  the  last  low  cry." 

No  less  is  it  this  same  realism  that  gives  power  to  the 
pathos  of  Dickens,  as  in  the  story  of  Stephen  wandering  in 
the  night,  despised,  misjudged,  dishonored  by  a  crime  of 


94  THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

which  he  is  guiltless.  Falling  into  the  pit  long  unused,  as 
he  lies  there  bruised  and  bleeding,  he  see's  way  up  through 
the  pit's  black  mouth  a  single  star,  that  seems  to  shine  divine 
beauty  to  soothe  the  mortal  pain  of  his  poor  shattered  body. 

And  so,  when  they  find  him  —  not  a  word  of  blame  or 
reproach  —  he  only  tells  how  "  It  ha'  shined  upon  me  in 
my  pain  and  trouble  down  below.  It  ha'  shined  into  my 
mind.  I  ha'  look'n  at  't,  thowt  o'  thee,  Rachel,  till  the 
muddle  in  my  mind  have  cleared  awa ;  and  often  as  I  coom 
to  myseln,  and  found  it  shinin'  on  me  down  there  in  my 
trouble,  I  thowt  it  were  the  star  as  guided  to  our  Savior's 
home."  As  the  light  faded  from  the  tired  eyes  the  spirit  left 
the  frail  body.  "  The  star  had  shown  him  where  to  find  the 
God  of  the  poor,  and  through  humility  and  sorrow  and 
forgiveness  he  had  gone  to  the  Redeemer's  rest." 

The  brush  of  the  artist  appeals  but  to  the  eye.  The 
chisel  of  the  sculptor  brings  forth  the  faultless  statue  that 
with  all  its  beauty  is  cold  and  pulseless.  But  the  pen  of 
Dickens,  the  realist,  creates  men  and  women  that  live,  whose 
hearts  throb  with  our  hopes,  ambitions,  emotions.  And  the 
secret  is  realism,  the  Pygmalion  touch  that  quickens  into 
life  and  reality  the  beings  of  imagination. 


THE  RELIEF  OF  LUCKNOW. 

ADAPTED. 

FOR  eighty  days  the  fort  of  Lucknow  had  held  out  against 
fifty  thousand  rebel  Sepoys.  Disease,  famine,  and  the  fire 
of  the  enemy  had  thinned  the  ranks  of  the  little  garrison 
until  but  twenty  remained.  Day  after  day  the  garrison  had 
hoped  for  relief,  but  now  hope  itself  had  died  away.  The 


THE    RELIEF    OF    LUCKNOW.  95 

Sepoys,  grown  desperate  by  repulse,  had  decided  to  over- 
whelm the  fort  with  their  whole  force.  The  engineers  had 
said  that  within  a  few  hours  all  would  be  over,  and  not  a 
soul  within  Lucknow  but  was  prepared  for  the  worst. 

A  poor  Scotch  girl,  Jessie  Brown,  had  been  in  a  state  of 
excitement  all  through  the  siege,  and  had  fallen  away  visibly 
within  the  last  few  days.  A  constant  fever  consumed  her, 
and  her  mind  wandered,  especially  on  that  day,  when,  as 
she  said,  she  was  "  lukin  far  awa,  far  awa  upon  the  craigs 
of  Duncleuch  as  in  the  days  of  auld  lang  syne."  At  last, 
overcome  with  fatigue,  she  sank  on  the  ground,  too  tired  to 
wait. 

As  the  Sepoys  moved  on  to  the  attack,  the  women,  remem- 
bering the  horrible  scenes  of  Cawnpore,  besought  the  men 
to  save  them  from  a  fate  worse  than  death,  by  killing  them 
with  a  volley  from  their  guns.  The  soldiers  for  the  last  time 
looked  down  the  road  whence  the  long-looked-for  relief 
must  come  ;  but  they  see  no  signs  of  Havelock  and  his 
troops.  In  despair  they  load  their  guns  and  aim  them  at 
the  waiting  group ;  but  suddenly  all  are  startled  by  a  wild, 
unearthly  shriek  from  the  sleeping  Scotch  girl.  Starting 
upright,  her  arms  raised,  and  her  head  bent  forward  in  the 
attitude  of  listening,  with  a  look  of  intense  delight  breaking 
over  her  countenance,  she  exclaimed:  "  Dinna  ye  hear  it? 
Dinna  ye  hear  it  ?  Ay,  I  'm  no  dreamin';  it 's  the  slogan  o' 
the  Highlanders  !  We  're  saved,  we  're  saved  !  "  Then, 
flinging  herself  upon  her  knees,  she  thanked  God  with 
passionate  fervor. 

The  soldiers  were  utterly  bewildered ;  their  English  ears 
heard  only  the  roar  of  artillery,  and  they  thought  poor  Jessie 
still  raving.  But  she  darted  to  the  batteries,  crying  inces- 
santly to  the  men  :  "  Courage  !  Hark  to  the  slogan  —  to 
the  Macgregor,  the  grandest  of  them  a'  !  Here  's  help  at 
last !  "  For  a  moment  every  soul  listened  in  intense  anxiety. 


96  THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

Gradually,  however,  there  was  a  murmur  of  bitter  disap- 
pointment, and  the  wailing  of  the  women  began  anew  as  the 
colonel  shook  his  head.  Their  dull  Lowland  ears  heard 
nothing  but  the  rattle  of  the  musketry. 

A  few  moments  more  of  this  deathlike  suspense,  of  this 
agonizing  hope,  and  Jessie,  who  had  again  sunk  to  the 
ground,  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  cried  in  a  voice  so  clear  and 
piercing  that  it  was  heard  along  the  whole  line  :  "  Will  ye 
no  believe  it  noo  ?  The  slogan  has  ceased,  indeed,  but  the 
Campbells  are  comin'.  D  'ye  hear  ?  D  'ye  hear  ?  " 

At  that  moment  they  seemed  to  hear  the  voice  of  God  in 
the  distance,  as  the  bagpipes  of  the  Highlanders  brought 
tidings  of  deliverance  ;  for  now  there  was  no  longer  any  doubt 
of  their  coming.  That  shrill,  penetrating,  ceaseless  sound 
which  rose  above  all  other  sounds  could  come  neither  from 
the  advance  of  the  enemy  nor  from  the  work  of  the  sappers. 

Yes  !  It  was  indeed  the  blast  of  the  Scottish  bagpipes, 
now  shrill  and  harsh  as  the  threatening  vengeance  of  the 
foe,  then  in  softer  tones  seeming  to  promise  succor  to  their 
friends  in  need.  Never,  surely,  was  there  such  a  scene  as 
that  which  followed.  Not  a  heart  in  the  residency  of  Luck- 
now  but  bowed  itself  before  God.  All  by  one  simultaneous 
impulse  fell  upon  their  knees,  and  nothing  was  heard  save 
bursting  sobs  and  the  murmured  voice  of  prayer. 


THE    RESCUE.  97 

THE  RESCUE. 

BENJAMIN   F.  TAYLOR. 

YEARS  ago,  on  a  grim  December  night,  the  city  of  New 
York  was  scourged  with  what  was  then  the  mightiest  con- 
flagration on  the  continent.  The  flames  that  lit  the  skies, 
and  brought  out  the  profile  of  every  tattered  cloud  and  scud 
and  spray  of  vapor,  swept  a  narrow  ring  upon  the  sea  of 
human  creatures.  Beyond  it,  way  out  in  the  darkness, 
heaved  and  surged  like  turbulent  waves  the  multitude. 

Bloody  tongues  lapped  the  eaves  and  licked,  up  the  cor- 
nices, and  the  tops  of  the  buildings  rocked  like  a  ship's 
deck  in  a  heavy  sea.  Upon  the  lofty  roof  of  a  stately  struc- 
ture was  a  human  creature.  To  and  fro  he  strode,  turning 
hither  and  thither.  There  was  no  hope.  And  all  the  while 
the  multitude  was  dumb. 

Then  all  at  once  a  figure  stood  on  the  balcony  below. 
He  was  a  sailor.  In  his  hand  a  coil  of  rope,  with  an 
appended  hook ;  he  reeled  it  slowly  off  upon  his  bent  elbow 
and  open  hand.  Round  after  round  the  rope  was  coiled 
until  the  hook  was  in  his  grasp.  At  last  he  threw,  and  the 
rope  shook  itself  free,  and  straightened  toward  the  eaves. 
The  hook  almost  caught  —  not  quite  —  and  fell  back  to  the 
balcony.  The  heart  of  the  multitude  sank  within  it. 

The  roof  fairly  lurched  like  a  foundered  ship.  Again  the 
sailor  coiled  the  rope,  more  slowly,  more  carefully  than 
before.  Again  he  threw,  and  the  hook  just  caught  upon 
the  eaves,  and  vibrated  as  if  it  were  death's  own  pendulum 
telling  off  the  last  precious  seconds  for  that  desolate  crea- 
ture. As  the  man  on  the  roof  saw  the  glittering  curve  of 
the  hook  he  crouched  like  a  panther,  and  crept  stealthily  to 
it  by  a  curved  approach,  as  if  it  were  a  living  thing.  He 
bent  over  it,  but  he  never  touched  it.  His  soul  was  in  his 


98  THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

eyes,  and  his  eyes  were  on  the  hook.  It  could  not  have  been 
more  precious  had  the  Kohinoor  sparkled  on  its  curve. 
And  yet  the  multitude  was  dumb. 

At  last  he  stretched  his  arm,  brought  his  hand  beside  the 
bended  iron  —  the  ringers  bent  to  grasp  it.  Ah,  the  woe  of 
a  false  touch  !  Then  with  a  convulsive  clutch  he  had  the 
hook,  he  sprang  to  the  battlement,  he  flung  the  rope  around 
it,  he  swung  himself  over  the  eaves,  he  came  down  hand  over 
hand,  he  stood  upon  the  solid  ground  —  he  was  numbered 
among  the  living.  The  roof  gave  a  plunge.  The  fiery  grave 
clamored  vainly  for  its  own  —  and  then  the  dumb  multitude 
awoke. 

The  long  acclamation  for  the  rescued  man  and  the  rescuer 
went  up  into  the  midnight  air  like  the  voice  of  many  waters. 


THE  REVIEW  OF  THE  GRAND  ARMY. 

ADAPTED. 

GENERAL  SHERMAN  tells  the  story  of  his  experience  in 
Georgia.  Says  he  :  One  day  as  I  was  riding  through  the 
state  I  spied  a  plantation.  I  was  thirsty,  and  so  rode  up  to 
the  gate  and  dismounted.  I  walked  up  to  the  porch,  where 
there  sat  an  old  gentleman  probably  sixty  years  of  age.  I 
got  into  conversation  with  him,  and  the  troops  drifted  along, 
passing  down  the  roadway  closely  by  fours,  and  every  regi- 
ment had  its  banner,  sometimes  furled  and  sometimes  afloat. 
Said  the  old  gentleman  :  "  General,  what  troops  are  these 
passing  down  ? "  As  the  color  bearer  came  by,  I  said  : 
"  Throw  out  your  colors  !  That  is  the  73d  Iowa."  "The 
73d  Iowa  !  73d  Iowa  !  Iowa  ?  73d  ?  What  do  you  mean 
by  the  73d  Iowa  ?  "  .  "  Well,"  said  I,  "  generally  a  regiment 
when  organized  consists  of  one  thousand  men."  "  Do  you 


THE  REVIEW  OF  THE  GRAND  ARMY.        99 

pretend  to  say  that  Iowa  has  sent  seventy-three  thousand 
men  into  this  cruel  war  ?  "  "I  think  that  may  be  inferred," 
I  said.  "Why,"  said  he,  "where  is  Iowa?"  "Iowa  is  a 
state  bounded  on  the  east  by  Mississippi,  on  the  south  by 
Missouri,  on  the  west  by  the  unknown  country,  and  on  the 
north  by  the  north  pole."  "  Why,"  said  he,  "  I  don't  know 
anything  about  that  place.  I  did  n't  dream  the  North  could 
send  so  many  men  as  are  here." 

And  so  with  me.  I  never  realized  what  this  country  was 
and  is,  as  on  the  day  when  I  first  saw  some  of  these  gentle- 
men of  the  army  and  navy.  It  was  when,  at  the  close  of 
the  war,  our  army  came  back  and  marched  in  review  before 
the  President's  stand  at  Washington.  I  do  not  care  whether 
a  man  was  a  Republican  or  a. Democrat,  a  Northern  man  or 
a  Southern  man,  if  he  had  any  emotion  of  nature  he  could 
not  look  upon  the  scene  without  weeping.  God  knew  that  the 
day  was  stupendous,  and  cleared  the  heaven  of  clouds  and 
mist  and  chill,  and  spread  the  blue  sky  as  a  triumphal  arch 
for  the  returning  warriors  to  pass  under.  From  Arlington 
Heights  the  spring  foliage  shook  out  its  welcome,  and  the 
sparkling  waters  of  the  Potomac  tossed  their  gold  at  the 
feet  of  the  battalions,  as  they  came  to  the  long  bridge  and 
in  almost  interminable  line  passed  over.  Passing  as  they 
did  in  silence,  yet  I  seemed  to  hear  in  every  step  the 
thunder  of  the  conflicts  through  which  they  had  waded, 
and  seemed  to  see  dripping  from  their  smpke-blackened 
banners  the  blood  of  our  country's  martyrs. 

For  the  best  part  of  two  days  we  stood,  and  watched  the 
filing  on  of  what  seemed  endless  battalions,  brigade  after 
brigade,  host  beyond  host,  ever  moving,  ever  passing  — 
marching,  inarching  —  tramp,  tramp,  tramp,  arms  shouldered, 
columns  solid,  shoulder  to  shoulder,  wheel  to  wheel,  charger 
to  charger,  nostril  to  nostril. 

These  men  came  from  Minnesota  ;  those  from  the  Illinois 


IOO         THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

prairies  ;  these  were  often  hummed  to  sleep  by  the  pines  of 
Oregon ;  those  were  New  England  lumbermen.  Side  by 
side  in  one  great  cause,  consecrated  through  fire  and  storm 
and  darkness,  brothers  in  peril,  they  were  on  their  way 
home  from  Chancellorsville,  and  Kenesaw  Mountains,  and 
battlefield  after  battlefield,  in  lines  that  seemed  infinite. 

We  gazed  and  wept  and  wondered,  lifting  up  our  heads 
to  see  if  the  end  had  come.  But  no  ;  looking  from  one  end 
of  that  long  avenue  to  another,  we  saw  them  still,  in  solid 
column,  host  beyond  host,  wheel  to  wheel,  charger  to 
charger,  nostril  to  nostril,  coming,  as  it  were,  from  under 
the  Capitol.  Forward  !  Forward  !  Their  bayonets,  caught 
in  the  sun,  glimmered  and  flashed  and  blazed  till  they 
seemed  one  long  line  of  silver,  ever  and  anon  changed  into 
a  river  of  gold.  But  hush  !  Uncover  every  head  !  Here 
they  pass,  ten  men,  the  remnant  of  a  full  regiment.  Silence  ! 
Widowhood  and  orphanage  look  on  and  wring  their  hands. 
But  wheel  into  line,  all  ye  people.  North,  South,  East,  and 
West, —  all  decades,  all  centuries,  all  millenniums.  Forward, 
the  whole  line. 


RIGHTS  AND  DUTIES. 

F.  W.  ROBERTSON. 

PEOPLE  talk  of  liberty  as  if  it  meant  the  liberty  of  doing 
what  a  man  likes.  I  call  that  man  free  who  is  master  of 
his  lower  appetites,  who  is  able  to  rule  himself.  I  call  him 
free  who  has  his  flesh  in  subjection  to  his  spirit.  I  call  him 
free  who  fears  doing  wrong,  but  who  fears  neither  man  nor 
devil  besides. 

We  hear  in  these  days  a  great  deal  respecting  rights.  We 
hear  of  the  rights  of  private  judgment,  the  rights  of  labor, 


RIGHTS    AND    DUTIES.  IOI 

the  rights  of  property,  and  the  rights  of  man.  Rights  are 
grand  things,  divine  things  in  this  world  of  God's.  But  the 
way  in  which  we  expound  those  rights,  alas  !  seems  to  me 
to  be  the  very  incarnation  of  selfishness.  I  can  see  nothing 
very  noble  in  a  man  who  is  forever  going  about  calling  for 
his  own  rights.  Alas  !  alas  !  for  the  man  who  feels  nothing 
more  grand  in  this  wondrous  divine  world  than  his  rights. 

The  cry  of  "  My  rights,  your  duties,"  I  think  we  might 
change  to  something  nobler.  If  we  could  learn  to  say  "My 
duties,  your  rights,"  we  should  come  to  the  same  thing  in 
the  end ;  but  the  spirit  would  be  different.  All  we  are  gain- 
ing by  this  cry  of  "  Rights  "  is  the  life  of  the  wild  beast,  and 
of  the  wild  man  of  the  desert  whose  hand  is  against  every 
man,  and  every  man's  hand  against  him.  Nay,  the  very 
brutes,  unless  they  had  an  instinct  which  respects  rights 
even  more  strongly  than  it  claims  them,  could  never  form 
anything  like  a  community.  Did  you  never  observe  in  a 
heronry  or  a  rookery  that  the  new-made  nest  is  left  in  per- 
fect confidence  by  the  birds  that  build  it  ?  If  the  others 
had  not  learned  to  respect  those  private  and  sacred  rights, 
but  began  to  assert  each  his  right  to  the  sticks  which  are 
woven  together  there,  it  would  be  some  time  before  you 
could  get  a  heronry  or  a  rookery  ! 

My  rights  are,  in  truth,  my  duties ;  my  rights  are  lim- 
ited by  another  man's  rights.  For  example,  I  have  a  per- 
fect right  to  build  a  wall  on  my  own  estate.  The  language 
of  the  law  is  that  to  whomsoever  the  soil  belongs  is  his  all 
up  to  the  skies.  But  within  three  yards  of  my  wall  is  my 
neighbor's  window.  What  becomes  of  the  right  that  I  was 
talking  of  ?  My  right  is  limited  ;  it  is  my  duty,  because 
limited  by  his  right. 

Now,  democracy,  if  it  means  anything,  means  government 
by  the  people.  It  has  for  its  very  watchword  equality  to  all 
men.  Now,  let  us  not  endeavor  to  make  it  ridiculous.  It 


IO2          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

does  not  mean  that  the  Bushman  or  the  Australian  is  equal 
to  the  Englishman.  But  it  means  this :  that  the  original 
stuff  of  which  all  men  are  made  is  equal,  that  there  is  no 
reason  why  the  Hottentot  and  the  Australian  may  not  be 
cultivated  so  that  in  the  lapse  of  centuries  they  may  be 
equal  to  Englishmen. 

And  I  suppose  that  all  free  institutions  mean  this.  I 
suppose  they  are  meant  to  assert :  let  the  people  be  edu- 
cated ;  let  there  be  a  fair  field  and  no  favor  ;  let  every  man 
have  a  fair  chance,  and  then  the  happiest  condition  of  a 
nation  would  be  that  when  every  man  has  been  educated 
morally  and  intellectually  to  his  very  highest  capacity,  there 
should  then  be  selected  out  of  men  so  trained  a  government 
of  the  wisest  and  the  best. 


RUSSIA  THE  ENIGMA  OF  EUROPE. 

GILBERT    H.  GROSVENOR. 

ALL  day  the  wild  strains  of  Oriental  music  have  been 
echoing  through  the  streets  of  Moscow.  All  day  the  sacred 
chimes  in  the  cathedral  towers  have  been  pealing  "  Te 
Deums."  In  the  majestic  Kremlin  the  destiny  of  Russia, 
yes,  of  all  Europe,  is  to  be  intrusted  to  one  man.  To-day 
Nicholas  II  crowns  himself  the  Czar  of  all  the  Russias. 

Gathered  in  the  imperial  palace,  stones  of  .whose  won- 
drous splendor  are  fairy  tales  in  every  land,  is  an  assembly 
vast,  dazzling,  magnificent.  Here  the  remotest  ends  of  the 
earth  have  sent  their  grandest  figures  to  do  the  new  Czar 
homage.  Here  kneel  fearfully  before  him  his  own  subjects 
of  every  race  and  creed.  Here,  too,  his  unofficial  vassals, 
envoys  from  Persia,  Japan,  the  Ottoman  Empire,  cringe  in 


RUSSIA    THE    ENIGMA    OF    EUROPE.  IO3 

his  presence.  Solemn  and  impressive  is  the  spectacle  of 
this  small,  slight  young  man  as  the  center  of  such  over- 
whelming glory. 

But  why  does  Europe  tremble  as  she  watches  the  corona- 
tion scene  ?  Is  there  anything  terrible  in  the  outward  glitter 
of  this  pompous  ceremony  ?  Is  it  not  simply  a  parade  of 
empty  vanity  to  gratify  a  monarch's  whim  or  a  nation's  bar- 
barous conceit  ?  No,  there  is  a  far  deeper  significance. 
The  coronation  is  no  idle  show,  no  mere  procession  of  richly 
dressed  nobles.  Every  gorgeous  envoy,  every  titled  diplo- 
matist, every  cringing  vassal  at  that  court  stands  a  warning 
of  Russia's  enormous  power,  of  her  inexhaustible  resources. 
That  vast  empire  realizes  her  gigantic  strength.  She  defies 
the  world,  and  flings  down  her  defiance  in  true  Oriental 
style. 

To-day  Russia  dictates  the  foreign  politics  of  European 
nations.  Her  diplomatists  are  solving  according  to  her 
wishes  the  great  problems  of  the  East.  Greece,  Bulgaria, 
Montenegro,  by  their  very  existence  as  independent  nations, 
testify  to  the  influence  of  modern  Russia;  but,  more  than 
all,  they  are  witnesses  to  the  noble  purposes  and  splendid 
results  for  which  that  power  has  often  been  employed.  But 
an  ambition  for  even  greater  empire,  for  a  more  world-wide 
sway,  inspires  the  Slavic  race.  Destiny,  they  believe,  has 
ordained  that  they  shall  become  the  dominant  people  of  the 
Old  World.  Confined  in  their  land-locked  empire,  they  have 
patiently  waited  until  the  time  should  come  for  them  to  real- 
ize their  destiny.  But  once  patient  in  their  weakness,  they 
now  grow  restless  in  the  consciousness  of  their  strength. 

Once  more,  I  ask  you  to  turn  to  the  coronation  cere- 
monies. The  last  scene  in  that  historic  drama  is  to  be  now 
enacted.  Upon  Khodinsky  Plain  without  the  city  officers  of 
the  new-crowned  Czar  are  to  distribute  free  gifts  among  the 
peasants.  Thither,  allured  by  the  promise  of  a  royal  pres-. 


IO4          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

ent,  hasten  crowds  of  Russian  yeomen.  The  thousands 
increase  to  tens,  and  the  tens  to  hundreds  of  thousands, 
until,  dazed  at  the  sight  of  such  multitudes,  the  officers 
scatter  the  souvenirs  among  them.  There  is  one  mad  rush. 
Savage  men,  frenzied  women,  screaming  children  fight  like 
beasts.  That  fierce,  writhing  mob  shows  no  pity.  The  weak, 
choked  and  crushed,  are  trampled  beneath  the  callous  mass, 
but  the  brutish  struggle  goes  on.  Ten  thousand  wretches 
perish,  a  sacrifice  to  frightened,  hasty  leaders  and  to  their 
own  unchecked  passions. 

A  shudder  of  horror  shakes  Europe  to  her  very  depths. 
She  who  but  now  marveled  at  the  unrivaled,  almost  fabulous 
resources  of  her  enemy  trembles  at  this  sudden,  immense 
revelation  of  their  nature. 

The  wild  mob  of  Russian  peasants  in  a  death  struggle  for 
a  tin  mug  presents  a  vivid  picture  of  Russian  character. 
The  hungry  and  grasping  spirit,  the  hardened,  insensible 
mind,  the  brutal  passion,  the  irresponsible,  uncontrollable 
temper  that  made  this  scene  possible  will  find  another  out- 
let. The  conflict  is  inevitable.  The  result  none  can 
prophesy ;  but  the  convulsion  will  change  the  face  of  the 
earth. 


SAVONAROLA. 

W.     M.    PUNSHON. 

IN  the  church  of  San  Marco  is  the  pulpit  from  which 
Savonarola  spoke  ;  in  the  adjoining  convent  is  the  cell  in 
which  he  wrote  ;  and  in  the  Piazza  Gran  Duca  the  fountain 
of  Neptune  stands  upon  the  spot  where  his  soul  went  out  in 
fire.  He  stood  among  the  ages,  midway  between  two  great 
periods,  orphan  of  the  old,  prophet  of  the  new.  While 


SAVONAROLA.  10$ 

behind  him  there  was  the  thick  darkness,  and  before  him 
the  glorious  morning,  he  lived  and  died  in  the  gloaming. 

A  vigorous  reformer  both  in  church  and  state,  he  gath- 
ered against  himself  the  hatred  of  that  relentless  enemy 
which  dogs  its  victims  to  the  death.  "  Do  you  ask  me,"  he 
says,  "  in  general,  what  will  be  the  end  of  this  conflict?  I 
answer  '  Victory.'  But  if  you  ask  me  in  particular,  I  answer 
*  Death.' "  The  first  effort  of  the  Pope  to  silence  him  was 
an  attempt  at  bribery.  "  Give  him  a  red  hat,  and  make  him 
at  once  a  cardinal  and  a  friend."  Savonarola  answered  from 
the  pulpit  of  San  Marco :  "  I  will  have  no  other  red  hat 
than  that  of  martyrdom,  colored  with  my  own  blood." 

Florence,  however,  was  not  so  brave,  and  her  cowardly 
magistrates  became  the  betrayers  of  the  man  who  deserved 
so  well  of  their  city.  On  the  23d  of  May,  1498,  a  platform 
was  erected  in  front  of  the  palace.  In  the  presence  of  the 
multitude  the  bishop  pronounced  his  degradation  :  "  I  sep- 
arate thee  from  the  Church  Militant  and  from  the  Church 
Triumphant."  "  Nay  !  "  cried  the  intrepid  spirit,  "  from  the 
Church  Militant,  if  you  please,  but  not  from  the  Church 
Triumphant."  Before  the  flames  of  the  martyr  fire  were 
quenched  the  reaction  set  in.  They  could  not  kill  his 
living  words  nor  his  immortal  memory. 

Even  at  this  day  the  friends  of  religious  freedom  inscribe 
his  name  upon  their  banners ;  and  as  his  words  of  fire, 
"  Italy  shall  be  renewed,"  pass  monthly  into  thousands  of 
Italian  homes,  they  stir  every  worthy  purpose  into  life. 
Yes  !  Italy  shall  be  renewed.  There  is  an  inner  truth  which, 
like  a  sound  of  power,  goes  ringing  through  the  ages  in 
Savonarola's  prophetic  words.  The  light  which  was  morn- 
ing light  to  him  has  climbed  higher  up  the  sky,  and  is  fast 
broadening  into  a  noon  of  splendor. 

Yes !  Italy  shall  be  renewed.  The  pure  truth  shall  win 
its  way,  in  spite  of  insult,  against  banded  foes  or  traitorous 


IO6          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

friends.     The  flowers  upon  the  martyr's  grave  suggest  the 
harvest  which  their  offspring  may  gather,  till 

They  who  have  strewn  the  violets  reap  the  corn, 
And,  having  reaped  and  garnered,  bring  the  plow, 
And  draw  new  furrows,  'neath  the  healthy  morn, 
*        And  plant  the  great  hereafter  in  the  now. 


SHAKESPEARE'S  MARK  ANTONY. 

WALTER  B.  WINCHELL. 

A  ROMAN,  an  orator,  and  a  triumvir,  a  conqueror  when 
all  Rome  seemed  armed  against  him  only  to  have  his  glory 
"false  played  "  by  a  woman  "  unto  an  enemy's  triumph,"  — 
such  is  Shakespeare's  story  of  Mark  Antony.  Passion  alter- 
nates with  passion,  purpose  with  purpose,  good  with  evil, 
and  strength  with  weakness,  until  his  whole  nature  seems 
changed,  and  we  find  the  same  and  yet  another  man. 

In  Julius  Ccesar  Antony  is  seen  at  his  best.  He  is  the 
one  triumphant  figure  of  the  play.  Caesar  falls.  Brutus 
and  Cassius  are  in  turn  victorious  and  defeated,  but  Antony 
is  everywhere  a  conqueror.  Antony  weeping  over  Caesar's 
body,  Antony  offering  his  breast  to  the  daggers  which  have 
killed  his  master,  is  as  plainly  the  sovereign  power  of  the 
moment  as  when  over  Caesar's  corpse  he  forces  by  his  mag- 
netic oratory  the  prejudiced  populace  to  call  down  curses 
on  the  heads  of  the  conspirators. 

Caesar's  spirit  still  lives  in  Antony,  —  a  spirit  that  dares 
face  the  conspirators  with  swords  still  red  with  Caesar's 
blood  and  bid  them, 

Whilst  their  purpled  hands  do  reek  and  smoke, 

fulfill  their  pleasure, —  a  spirit  that  over  the  dead  body  of 
Caesar  takes  the  hand  of  each  and  yet  exclaims  : 


SHAKESPEARE'S  MARK  ANTONY.       107 

Had  I  as  many  eyes  as  thou  hast  wounds, 
Weeping  as  fast  as  they  stream  forth  thy  blood, 
It  would  become  me  better  than  to  close 
In  terms  of  friendship  with  thine  enemies. 

Permission  is  granted  Antony  to  speak  a  farewell  word 
over  the  body  of  Caesar  in  the  crowded  market  place. 
Before  the  populace,  hostile  and  prejudiced,  Antony  stands 
as  the  friend  of  Caesar.  Slowly,  surely,  making  his  ap- 
proach step  by  step,  with  consummate  tact  he  steals  away 
their  hearts  and  paves  the  way  for  his  own  victory.  The 
honorable  men  gradually  turn  to  villains  of  the  blackest 
dye.  Caesar's  mantle,  which  but  a  moment  before  had 
called  forth  bitter  curses,  now  brings  tears  to  every  Roman's 
eye.  The  populace  fast  yields  to  his  eloquence.  He  con- 
quers every  vestige  of  distrust  as  he  says  : 

I  am  no  orator,  as  Brutus  is ; 
But,  as  you  know  me  all,  a  plain,  blunt  man,- 
That  love  my  friend  ;  and  that  they  know  full  well 
That  gave  me  public  leave  to  speak  of  him." 

And  now  the  matchless  orator  throws  off  his  disguise.  With 
resistless  vehemence  he  pours  forth  a  flood  of  eloquence 
which  bears  the  fickle  mob  like  straws  before  its  tide  : 

I  tell  you  that  which  you  yourselves  do  know ; 

Show  you  sweet  Caesar's  wounds,  poor,  poor  dumb  mouths, 

And  bid  them  speak  for  me ;  but  were  I  Brutus, 

And  Brutus  Antony,  there  were  an  Antony 

Would  ruffle  up  your  spirits,  and  put  a  tongue 

In  every  wound  of  Caesar,  that  should  move 

The  stones  of  Rome  to  rise  and  mutiny. 

The  effect  is  magical.  The  rage  of  the  populace  is  quick- 
ened to  a  white  heat ;  and,  baffled,  beaten  by  a  plain,  blunt 
man,  the  terror-stricken  conspirators  ride  like  madness 
through  the  gates  of  Rome. 


IO8          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

The  acknowledged  leader  of  the  triumvirate,  Antony 
becomes  a  terror  to  all  those  who  stand  in  the  way  of  his 
ambition.  Proscription  begins  its  horrid  work.  Friend- 
ships are  sacrificed,  the  ties  of  kindred  broken.  Little  now 
the  bold  triumvir  heeds  the  voice  of  conscience.  His  mind 
is  a  delirium.  The  rapid  gathering  of  momentous  events 
leaves  no  time  for  the  consideration  of  right  and  wrong. 
The  rush  of  war  is  upon  him,  and  he  must  prepare  to  meet 
his  old  enemies  on  the  battlefield. 

Well  for  Antony,  well  for  Brutus  and  Cassius,  had  Antony 
been  taken  at  his  word  when  over  Caesar's  body  he  asked 
death  at  their  hands  in  those  memorable  and  almost  pro- 
phetic words : 

Fulfill  your  pleasure.     Live  a  thousand  years, 
I  shall  not  find  myself  so  apt  to  die. 

Then  might  have  been  avoided  defeat  for  the  conspirators, 
and  Antony's  name,  —  without  its  glory,  perhaps,  but 
unstained,  —  would  stand  fair  in  history. 

But  it  was  not  to  be.  The  bugles  sound  to  arms.  The 
plain  of  Philippi  becomes  the  theater  of  death,  and  when 
night  comes  on  the  stars  look  down  upon  the  bodies  of 
Brutus  and  Cassius  slain  by  their  own  hands,  upon  a  second 
triumph  for  the  reckless,  dashing  Antony. 


THE    SIGNAL    MAN. 

THE    SIGNAL   MAN. 

CHARLES  DICKENS. 

"  HALLOO,  below  there  !  " 

When  the  signal  man  heard  my  voice  he  was  standing  at 
the  door  of  his  box  with  a  flag  in  his  hand.  His  post  was 
in  as  solitary  and  dismal  a  place  as  ever  I  saw.  On  either 
side  a  dripping  wet  wall  of  jagged  stone  shut  out  all  view 
but  a  strip  of  sky.  The  prospective  in  one  direction  was  a 
crooked  prolongation  of  this  great  dungeon  ;  the  shorter 
prospective  in  the  other  terminated  in  a  gloomy  red  light, 
and  the  gloomier  entrance  to  a  tunnel  in  whose  massive 
architecture  there  was  a  depressing  and  forbidding  air. 

After  a  short  conversation  in  the  signal  man's  box,  I  said 
as  I  rose  to  leave  :  "  You  almost  make  me  think  that  at  last 
I  have,  met  with  a  contented  man."  "  I  believe  I  used  to 
be  so,"  said  he,  "  but  now  I  am  troubled,  sir,  I  am  troubled. 
The  trouble  would  be  hard  to  impart,  but  if  you  ever  make 
me  another  visit  I  will  try  to  tell  yon."  "  Then  I  will 
come  at  eleven  to-morrow  night,"  said  I.  Punctual  to  my 
appointment,  I  placed  my  foot  on  the  first  notch  of  the  zig- 
zag descent  just  as  the  distant  clocks  were  striking  eleven. 
The  signal  man  met  me  at  the  bottom  with  his  white  light 
turned  on,  and  together  we  walked  side  by  side  to  his  box, 
entered  it,  closed  the  door,  and  sat  down. 

"  I  have  made  up  my  mind,  sir,  that  you  shall  not  have 
to  ask  me  twice  what  it  is  that  troubles  me.  Last  night 
when  you  called  to  me  I  took  you  for  some  one  else.  That 
it  is  that  troubles  me,  —  that  some  one  else.  Who  he  is  I 
do  not  know.  I  never  £aw  the  face.  The  left  arm  is 
across  the  brow,  and  the  right  arm  waved,  violently  waved. 
One  moonlight  night  I  was  sitting  here  before  the  fire  when 
I  heard  a  voice  call  out  :  '  Halloo,  below  there  ! '  I  started 


IIO          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

up,  and,  looking  from  that  door,  saw  this  unknown  some 
one  else  standing  by  the  red  light  just  outside  the  blackness 
of  the  tunnel.  His  voice  was  hoarse  with  shouting,  and  it 
cried  :  '  Below  there  ! '  and  again,  *  Look  out !  Look  out ! 
For  God's  sake,  clear  the  way  ! '  I  snatched  up  the  lantern, 
turned  it  on  red,  and  ran  toward  the  figure,  crying :  'What 's 
wrong  ?  What  has  happened  ?  '  I  ran  right  up  to  it,  and 
stretched  out  my  arm  to  drag  the  sleeve  from  off  the  face, 
when  it  was  gone.  I  rushed  on  into  the  tunnel  five  hundred 
yards,  stopped,  and,  holding  my  lantern  above  my  head, 
saw  the  figure  in  the  measured  distance,  the  black  stains 
streaming  down  the  walls  and  trickling  through  the  arch. 
I  rushed  back  again,  and  telegraphed  both  ways :  *  An 
alarm  has  been  given.  Is  anything  wrong  ? '  And  the 
answer  came  back :  '  All  's  well/  Six  hours  after  the 
appearance  of  that  figure  the  most  memorable  accident  on 
this  line  happened,  and  the  bodies  of  the  dead  and  wounded 
were  brought  through  the  tunnel  and  over  the  very  spot 
where  that  specter  stood. 

"  Seven  months  passed,  when  one  morning  as  the  day  was 
breaking  I,  looking  from  that  door,  saw  that  specter  again. 
It  was  silent.  It  leaned  against  the  shaft  of  the  red  light 
with  both  hands  before  its  face.  That  very  day  as  a  train  was 
passing  through  the  tunnel  a  beautiful  young  lady  died  in- 
stantaneously in  one  of  the  compartments,  and  her  body  was 
brought  in  here  and  laid  down  there  on  the  floor  between  us. 

"  A  week  ago  that  specter  appeared  again.  Since  then 
I  have  had  no  rest,  no  peace.  It  calls  to  me  constantly 
from  the  mouth  of  the  tunnel  :  *  Halloo,  below  there !  Look 
out  !  Look  out  !  For  God's  sake,  clear  the  way  !  '  all  the 
time  keeping  its  left  arm  before  its  face  and  violently 
waving  its  right." 

I  saw  that,  for  the  poor  man's  sake  as  well  as  for  public 
safety,  what  I  had  to  do  was  to  calm  his  mind,  and  I  did  not 


THE    SIGNAL    MAN.  Ill 

leave  him  till  two  in  the  morning.  Next  evening  the  sun 
had  not  quite  set  as  I  traversed  the  field  path  along  the 
brink  of  that  deep  cut.  Before  pursuing  my  way,  1  stepped 
to  the  brink  and  mechanically  looked  down.  I  cannot 
describe  the  thrill  that  seized  upon  me  when  I  saw  the 
figure  of  a  man  just  outside  the  mouth  of  the  tunnel,  his  left 
arm  across  his  face,  passionately  waving  his  right  arm.  With 
an  irresistible  feeling  that  something  was  wrong,  I  descended 
the  notched  path  with  as  much  speed  as  I  could  make. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  I  asked  the  man.  "  Signal  man 
killed,"  he  replied.  "  He  was  cut  down  by  my  engine. 
Coming  around  the  curve  in  the  .tunnel,  I  saw  him  standing 
at  the  other  end.  There  was  no  time  to  check  speed,  and  I 
knew  he  was  a  careful  man.  As  he  did  not  seem  to  heed 
the  whistle,  I  shut  it  off  and  called  to  him  with  all  my 
might  :  '  Halloo,  below  there  !  Look  out !  Look  out ! 
For  God's  sake,  clear  the  way  !  '  Oh,  it  was  a  dreadful 
time,  sir,  and  I  put  my  arm  across  my  face,  violently  waving 
my  right  arm,  and  did  not  leave  off  calling  to  the  last.  But 
it  was  no  use." 

Then,  with  bared  heads,  they  showed  me  the  mangled  remains 
of  the  signal  man  whose  warnings  had  at  last  overtaken  him. 


THE  SIGNING  OF  THE  DECLARATION. 

GEORGE  LIPPARD. 

IT  is  a  cloudless  summer  day  ;  a  clear  blue  sky  arches  and 
expands  above  a  quaint  edifice,  rising  among  the  giant  trees 
in  the  center  of  a  wide  city.  That  edifice  is  built  of  plain  red 
brick,  with  heavy  window  frames,  and  a  massive  hall  door. 

Such  is  the  state  house  of  Philadelphia,  in  the  year  of  our 
Lord  1776. 


112          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

In  yonder  wooden  steeple,  which  crowns  the  summit  of 
that  red  brick  state  house,  stands  an  old  man  with  snow- 
white  hair  and  sunburnt  face.  He  is  clad  in  humble  attire, 
yet  his  eye  gleams,  as  it  is  fixed  on  the  ponderous  outline  of 
the  bell  suspended  in  the  steeple  there.  By  his  side,  gazing 
into  his  sunburnt  face  in  wonder,  stands  a  flaxen-haired  boy 
with  laughing  eyes  of  summer  blue.  The  old  man  ponders 
for  a  moment  upon  the  strange  words  written  upon  the  bell, 
then,  gathering  the  boy  in  his  arms,  he  speaks  :  "  Look 
here,  my  child.  Will  you  do  this  old  man  a  kindness  ? 
Then  hasten  down  the  stairs,  and  wait  in  the  hall  below  till 
a  man  gives  you  a  message. for  me  ;  when  he  gives  you  that 
word,  run  out  into  the  street  and  shout  it  up  to  me.  Do  you 
mind?"  The  boy  sprang  from  the  old  man's  arms,  and 
threaded  his  way  down  the  dark  stairs. 

Many  minutes  passed.  The  old  bell  keeper  was  alone. 
"  Ah,"  groaned  the  old  man,  "  he  has  forgotten  me."  As 
the  word  was  upon  his  lips  a  merry,  ringing  laugh  broke  on 
his  ear.  And  there,  among  the  crowd  on  the  pavement, 
stood  the  blue-eyed  boy,  clapping  his  tiny  hands  while  the 
breeze  blew  his  flaxen  hair  all  about  his  face,  and,  swelling 
his  little  chest,  he  raised  himself  on  tiptoe,  and  shouted  the 
single  word,  "  Ring !  " 

Do  you  see  that  old  man's  eye  fire  ?  Do  you  see  that  arm 
so  suddenly  bared  to  the  shoulder  ?  Do  you  see  that  with- 
ered hand  grasping  the  iron  tongue  of  the  bell  ?  That  old 
man  is  young  again.  His  veins  are  filling  with  a  new  life. 
Backward  and  forward,  with  sturdy  strokes,  he  swings  the 
tongue.  The  bell  peals  out ;  the  crowds  in  the  street  hear 
it,  and  burst  forth  in  one  long  shout.  Old  Delaware  hears 
it,  and  gives  it  back  on  the  cheers  of  her  thousand  sailors. 
The  city  hears  it,  and  starts  up,  from  desk  and  workshop, 
as  if  an  earthquake  had  spoken. 

Under  that  very  bell,  pealing  out  at  noonday,  in  an  old 


THE    SIGNING    OF    THE    DECLARATION.  113 

hall,  fifty-six  traders,  farmers,  and  mechanics  had  assembled 
to  break  the  shackles  of  the  world.  The  committee,  who 
have  been  out  all  night,  are  about  to  appear.  At  last  the 
door  opens,  and  they  advance  to  the  front.  The  parchment 
is  laid  on  the  table.  Shall  it  be  signed,  or  not  ?  Then 
ensues  a  high  and  stormy  debate.  Then  the  faint-hearted 
cringe  in  corners.  Then  Thomas  Jefferson  speaks  his  few 
bold  words,  and  John  Adams  pours  out  his  whole  soul. 

Still  there  is  a  doubt;  and  that  pale-faced  man,  rising  in 
one  corner,  squeaks  out  something  about  "  axes,  scaffolds, 
and  a  gibbet."  A  tall,  slender  man  rises,  and  his  dark  eye 
burns,  while  his  words  ring  through  the  halls  :  "  Gibbets  ! 
They  may  stretch  our  necks  on  every  scaffold  in  the  land. 
They  may  turn  every  rock  into  a  gibbet,  every  tree  into  a 
gallows ;  and  yet  the  words  written  on  that  parchment  can 
never  die.  They  may  pour  out  our  blood  on  a  thousand 
altars,  and  yet,  from  every  drop  that  dyes  the  axe  or  drips 
on  the  sawdust  of  the  block,  a  new  martyr  to  freedom  will 
spring  into  existence.  What !  are  these  shrinking  hearts 
and  faltering  voices  here,  when  the  very  dead  upon  our 
battlefields  arise  and  call  upon  us  to  sign  that  parchment,  or 
be  accursed  forever  ? 

"  Sign !  if  the  next  moment  the  gibbet's  rope  is  around 
your  neck.  Sign  !  if  the  next  moment  this  hall  ring  with 
the  echo  of  the  falling  axe.  Sign  !  by  all  your  hopes  in  life 
or  death,  as  husbands,  as  fathers,  as  men  !  Sign  your  names 
to  that  parchment ! 

"  Yes !  were  my  soul  trembling  on  the  verge  of  eternity, 
were  this  voice  choking  in  the  last  struggle,  I  would  still, 
with  the  last  impulse  of  that  soul,  with  the  last  gasp  of 
that  voice,  implore  you  to  remember  this  truth  :  God  has 
given  America  to  the  free.  Yes !  as  I  sink  down  into  the 
gloomy  shadow  of  the  grave,  with  my  last  breath  I  would 
beg  of  you  to  sign  that  parchment." 


114  THE    NEW    CENTURY    SPEAKER. 

SIR  WALTER  SCOTT  IN  WESTMINSTER. 

JOHN  HAY. 

A  CLEVER  French  author  made  a  book  some  years  ago 
called  The  Forty-first  Armchair.  It  consists  of  brief  biog- 
raphies of  the  most  famous  writers  of  France,  not  any  of 
whom  have  been  members  of  the  Academy.  The  astonish- 
ment of  a  stranger  who  is  told  that  neither  Moliere  nor 
Balzac  was  ever  embraced  among  the  "  Forty  Immortals  "  is 
very  like  that  which  often  affects  the  tourist  who,  searching 
among  the  illustrious  names  and  faces  which  make  this 
Abbey  glorious,  has  asked  in  vain  for  the  author  of  Waverley. 
It  is  not  that  he  has  ever  been  forgotten  or  neglected.  His 
spirit  is  everywhere  ;  he  is  revered  wherever  the  English 
speech  has  traveled. 

I  doubt  if  anywhere  his  writings  have  had  a  more  loving 
welcome  than  in  America.  I  have  heard  from  my  father,  a 
pioneer  of  Kentucky,  that  in  the  early  days  of  this  century 
men  would  saddle  their  horses  and  ride  from  all  the  neigh- 
boring counties  to  the  principal  post  town  of  the  region,  when 
a  new  novel  by  the  author  of  Waverley  was  expected. 
Through  all  those  important  formative  days  of  the  Republic 
Scott  was  the  favorite  author  of  Americans.  The  romances 
of  courts  and  castles  were  specially  appreciated  in  the  woods 
and  plains  of  the  frontier,  where  a  pure  democracy  reigned. 
The  poems  and  novels  of  Scott,  saturated  with,  the  glamor 
of  legend  and  tradition,  were  greedily  devoured  by  a  people 
conscious  that  they  themselves  were  ancestors  of  a  redoubt- 
able line  whose  battle  was  with  the  passing  hour,  whose 
glories  were  all  in  the  days  to  come. 

Both  mentally  and  morally  Scott  was  one  of  the  greatest 
writers  who  ever  lived.  His  magic  still  has  power  to  charm 
all  wholesome  and  candid  souls.  Although  so  many  years 
have  passed  since  his  great  heart  broke  in  the  valiant  strug- 


THE    SLAVE    OF    BOSTON.  I  I  $ 

gle  against  evil  fortune,  his  poems  and  his  tales  are  read 
with  undiminished  interest  and  perennial  pleasure.  He 
loved  with  a  single,  straightforward  affection  man  and 
nature,  his  country  and  his  kind.  He  has  his  reward  in  a 
fame  forever  fresli  and  unhackneyed. 

The  poet  who  as  an  infant  clapped  his  hands  and  cried 
"  Bonnie "  to  the  thunderstorm,  and  whose  dying  senses 
were  delighted  by  the  farewell  whisper  of  the  Tweed  rip- 
pling over  its  pebbles,  is  quoted  in  every  aspect  of  sun  and 
shadow  that  varies  the  face  of  Scotland.  The  man  who  blew 
so  clear  a  clarion  of  patriotism  lives  forever  in  the  speech  of 
those  who  seek  a  line  to  describe  the  love  of  country.  The 
robust,  athletic  spirit  of  his  tales  of  old,  the  royal  quarrels, 
the  instinctive  loves,  the  staunch  devotion  of  the  unconquer- 
able creations  of  his  inexhaustible  fancy,  —  all  these  have 
their  special  message  for  the  minds  of  our  day.  His  work 
is  a  clear,  high  voice,  from  a  simpler  age  than  ours,  breath- 
ing a  song  of  lofty  and  unclouded  purpose,  of  sincere  and 
powerful  passion,  to  which  the  world,  however  weary  and 
preoccupied,  must  needs  still  listen  and  attend. 


THE  SLAVE  OF  BOSTON. 

THEODORE  PARKER. 

BOSTON  has  seen  sad  days  before  now.  When  the  Stamp 
Act  came  here,  in  our  fathers'  time,  it  was  a  sad  day.  They 
tolled  the  bells  all  over  town,  and  Mayhew  wished  "  they 
were  cut  off  that  trouble  you."  It  was  a  sad  day  when  the 
tea  came  here,  although,  when  it  went  down  the  stream,  all 
the  hills  of  New  England  laughed.  It  was  a  sadder  day 
still,  the  i yth  of  June,  1775,  when  our  fathers  fought  and 


Il6          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

bled  on  yonder  hill,  all  red  from  battle  at  Concord  and  Lex- 
ington. But  it  was  the  saddest  day  of  all,  when  a  man  was 
kidnapped  in  Boston  by  the  men  of  Boston,  and  your  court- 
house hung  with  chains. 

Last  Thursday  night  —  when  odious  beasts  of  prey,  that 
dare  not  face  the  light  of  heaven,  prowl  through  the  woods, 
—  those  ruffians  of  the  law  seized  on  their  brother  man. 
They  lie  to  the  bystanders,  and  seize  him  on  a  false  pre- 
tense. There  is  their  victim  —  they  hold  him  fast.  His 
faithless  knife  breaks  in  his  hand ;  his  coat  is  rent  to  pieces. 
He  is  the  slave  of  Boston.  Can  you  understand  his  feel- 
ings ?  Let  us  pass  by  that.  His  "  trial !  "  Shall  I  speak 
of  that  ?  He  has  been  five  days  on  trial  for  more  than  life, 
and  has  not  seen  a  judge  !  A  jury?  No,  —  only  a  commis- 
sioner !  O  justice  !  O  republican  America  !  Is  this  the 
liberty  of  Massachusetts  ? 

Well,  these  are  only  the  beginning  of  sorrows.  There  will 
be  other  victims  yet ;  this  will  not  settle  the  question.  What 
shall  we  do  ?  Keep  the  law  of  God.  Next  I  say,  resist  not 
evil  with  evil ;  resist  not  now  with  violence.  Why  do  I  say 
this  ?  Will  you  tell  me  that  I  am  a  coward  ?  Perhaps  I  am  ; 
at  least,  I  am  not  afraid  to  be  called  one.  Why  do  I  say, 
then,  do  not  now  resist  with  violence  ?  Because  it  is  not 
time  just  yet ;  it  would  not  succeed.  If  I  had  the  eloquence 
that  I  sometimes  dream  of,  which  goes  into  a  crowd  of  men, 
and  gathers  it  in  its  mighty  arm,  and  sways  them  as  the 
pendant  boughs  of  yonder  elm  shall  be  shaken  by  the  sum- 
mer breeze  next  June,  I  would  not  give  that  counsel.  I 
would  call  on  men,  and  lift  up  my  voice  like  a  trumpet 
through  the  whole  land,  until  I  had  gathered  millions  out  of 
the  North  and  the  South,  and  they  would  crush  slavery  for- 
ever, as  the  ox  crushes  the  spider  underneath  his  feet. 

But  such  eloquence  is  given  to  no  man.  It  was  not  given 
to  the  ancient  Greek  who  "  shook  the  arsenal  and  fulmined 


THE    SPIRIT    OF    CONQUEST.  II? 

over  Greece."  No  man  has  it.  The  ablest  must  wait  for 
time.  It  is  idle  to  resist  here  and  now.  It  is  not  the  hour. 
If  in  1765  they  had  attempted  to  carry  out  the  Revolution 
by  f6rce,  they  would  have  failed.  Had  it  failed,  we  had  not 
been  here  to-day.  There  would  have  been  no  little  monu- 
ment at  Lexington  "  sacred  to  liberty  and  the  rights  of  man- 
kind," honoring  the  men  who  "fell  in  the  cause  of  God  and 
their  country."  No  little  monument  at  Concord  ;  nor  that 
tall  pile  of  eloquent  stone  at  Bunker  Hill  to  proclaim  that 
"  Resistance  to  tyrants  is  obedience  to  God." 

.Success  is  due  to  the  discretion,  heroism,  calmness,  and 
forbearance  of  our  fathers  ;  let  us  wait  our  time. 


THE   SPIRIT   OF   CONQUEST. 

THOMAS  CORWIN. 

SINCE  I  have  heard  so  much  about  the  dismemberment  of 
Mexico,  I  have  looked  back  to  see  how  in  the  course  of 
events,  which  some  call  "Providence,"  it  has  fared  with  other 
nations  who  engaged  in  this  work  of  dismemberment.  I 
see  that,  in  the  latter  half  of  the  eighteenth  century,  three 
powerful  nations,  Russia,  Austria,  and  Prussia,  united  in  the 
dismemberment  of  Poland.  They  said,  too,  as  you  say,  "  It 
is  our  destiny."  They  "wanted  room." 

Doubtless,  each  of  these  thought,  with  his  share  of  Poland, 
his  power  was  too  strong  to  fear  invasion  or  even  insult. 
One  had  his  California,  another  his  New  Mexico,  and  the 
third  his  Vera  Cruz.  Did  they  remain  untouched  and 
incapable  of  harm  ?  Alas  !  no ;  far,  very  far,  from  it.  Re- 
tributive justice  must  fulfill  its  destiny,  too. 


Il8          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

A  few  years  pass  away  and  we  hear  of  a  new  man,  a  Corsi- 
can  lieutenant,  the  self-named  "  armed  soldier  of  democracy," 
Napoleon.  He  ravages  Austria,  covers  her  land  with  blood, 
drives  the  northern  Caesar  from  his  capital,  and  sleeps  in 
his  palace.  Austria  may  now  remember  how  her  power 
trampled  upon  Poland.  But  has  Prussia  no  atonement  to 
make  ?  The  thunders  of  Napoleon's  cannon  at  Jena  pro- 
claim the  work  of  retribution  for  Poland's  wrongs. 

But  how  fares  it  with  the  autocrat  of  Russia?  Is  he 
secure  in  his  share  of  the  spoils  of  Poland  ?  No  ;  suddenly 
we  see  six  hundred  thousand  men  marching  to  Moscow. 
Does  his  Vera  Cruz  protect  him  now?  Far  from  it.  When 
Moscow  burned  it  seemed  as  if  the  earth  were  lighted  up 
that  nations  might  behold  the  scene.  As  that  mighty  sea 
of  fire  gathered  and  heaved,  and  rolled  upward  and  yet  higher, 
till  its  flames  licked  the  stars  and  fired  the  whole  heavens, 
it  did  seem  as  though  the  God  of  nations  was  writing,  in 
characters  of  flame,  on  the  front  of  his  throne,  that  doom 
that  shall  fall  upon  the  strong  nation  which  tramples  in 
scorn  upon  the  weak. 

And  what  fortune  awaits  the  appointed  executor  of  this 
work  when  it  was  all  done  ?  He,  beneath  whose  proud  foot- 
steps Europe  trembled,  is  now  an  exile  at  Elba,  and  finally  a 
prisoner  on  the  rock  of  St.  Helena ;  and  there  on  a  barren 
island,  in  an  unfrequented  sea,  in  the  crater  of  an  extin- 
guished volcano,  there  is  the  deathbed  of  the  mighty 
conqueror.  All  his  annexations  have  come  to  that.  His 
last  hour  is  now  come,  and  he,  the  man  of  destiny,  he  who 
had  shaken  Europe  as  with  the  throes  of  an  earthquake,  is 
now  powerless  —  still ;  even  as  the  beggar  so  he  died. 

On  the  wings  of  a  tempest  that  raged  with  unwonted  fury,  up 
to  the  throne  of  the  only  power  that  controlled  him  while  he 
lived,  went  the  fiery  soul  of  that  wonderful  warrior,  —  another 
witness  to  that  eternal  decree,  that  they  who  do  not  rule  in 


THE    STORMING    OF    MISSION    RIDGE.  IIQ 

righteousness  shall  perish  from  the  face  of  the  earth.  He 
has  found  room  at  last ;  and  France,  she,  too,  has  found 
room.  Her  eagles  no  longer  scream  along  the  banks  of  the 
Danube,  the  Po,  and  the  Borysthenes ;  they  have  returned 
home  to  their  old  eyrie  between  the  Alps,  the  Rhine,  and 
the  Pyrenees. 

So  shall  it  be  with  yours.  You  may  carry  them  to  the 
loftiest  peak  of  the  Cordilleras,  they  may  wave  in  insolent 
triumph  in  the  halls  of  the  Montezumas,  the  armed  men 
of  Mexico  may  quail  before  them  ;  but  the  weakest  hand  in 
Mexico,  uplifted  in  prayer  to  the  God  of  justice,  may  call 
down  against  you  a  power  in  the  presence  of  which  the  iron 
hearts  of  your  warriors  shall  be  crumbled  into  ashes. 


THE   STORMING   OF   MISSION   RIDGE. 

BENJAMIN  F.  TAYLOR. 

IMAGINE  a  chain  of  Federal  forts,  built  in  between  with 
walls  of  living  men,  the  line  flung  northward  out  of  sight 
and  southward  beyond  Lookout.  Imagine  a  chain  of  moun- 
tains crowned  with  batteries  and  manned  with  hostile  troops 
through  a  six-mile  sweep,  set  over  against  us  in  plain  sight, 
and  you  have  the  two  fronts,  —  the  blue,  the  gray.  Imagine 
the  center  of  our  line  pushed  out  a  mile  and  a  half  towards 
Mission  Ridge,  and  you  have  the  situation  as  it  was  on  the 
morning  before  Thanksgiving.  And  what  a  work  was  to  be 
done  !  One  and  a  half  miles  to  traverse,  with  narrow  fringes 
of  woods,  rough  valleys,  sweeps  of  open  fields,  rocky  acclivi- 
ties, to  the  base  of  the  Ridge,  and  no  foot  in  all  the  breadth 
withdrawn  from  rebel  sight.  The  base  attained,  what  then  ? 
A  hill  struggling  up  out  of  the  valley  four  hundred  feet, 


I2O         THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

rained  on  by  bullets,  swept  by  shot  and  shell ;  another  line 
of  works,  and  then,  up  like  a  Gothic  roof,  rough  with  rocks, 
a-wreck  with  fallen  trees,  four  hundred  more ;  another  ring 
of  fire  and  iron,  and  then  the  crest,  and  then  the  enemy. 

To  dream  of  such,  a  journey  would  be  madness;  to  devise 
it,  a  thing  incredible ;  to  do  it,  a  deed  impossible.  But 
Grant  was  guilty  of  them  all,  and  was  equal  to  the  work. 

The  bugle  swung  idly  at  the  bugler's  side.  The  warbling 
fife  and  rumbling  drum  were  unheard.  There  was  to  be 
louder  talk.  Six  guns  at  intervals  of  two  seconds,  the  signal 
to  advance.  Strong  and  steady  a  voice  rang  out :  "  Number 
one,  fire!  Number  two,  fire  !  Number  three,  fire!"  It 
seemed  to  me  the  tolling  of  the  clock  of  destiny.  And  when 
at "  Number  six,  fire  !  "  the  roar  throbbed  out  with  the  flash, 
you  should  have  seen  the  dead  line  that  had  been  lying 
behind  the  works  all  day,  all  night,  all  day  again,  coihe  to 
resurrection  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  leap  like  a  felade 
from  its  scabbard,  and  sweep  with  a  two-mile  stroke  toward 
the  Ridge.  From  divisions  to  brigades,  from  brigades  to 
regiments,  the  order  ran.  A  minute,  and  the  skirmishers 
deploy.  A  minute,  and  the  first  great  drops  begin  to  patter 
along  the  line.  A  minute,  and  the  musketry  is  in  full  play, 
like  the  crackling  whips  of  a  hemlock  fire.  Men  go  down 
here  and  there  before  your  eyes. 

But  I  may  tell  you  they  did  not  storm  that  mountain  as 
you  would  think.  They  dash  out  a  little  way,  and  then 
slacken  ;  they  creep  up,  hand  over  hand,  loading  and  firing, 
and  wavering  and  halting,  from  the  first  line  of  works 
toward  the  second  ;  they  burst  into  a  charge  with  a  cheer 
and  go  over  it.  Sheets  of  flame  baptize  them  ;  plunging 
shot  tear  away  comrades  on  left  and  right.  It  is  no  longer 
shoulder  to  shoulder;  it  is  God  for  us  all.  Ten  —  fifteen 
—  twenty  minutes  go  by  like  a  reluctant  century.  The  bat- 
teries roll  like  a  drum.  The  hill  sways  up  like  a  wall 


THE    STORMING    OF    MISSION    RIDGE.  121    • 

before  them  at  an  angle  of  forty-five  degrees ;  but  our  brave 
mountaineers  are  clambering  steadily  on  —  up  —  upward 
still  !  And  what  do  these  men  follow  ?  Your  heart  gives  a 
great  bound  when  you  think  what  it  is,  —  the  regimental 
flag,  —  and,  glancing  along  the  front,  count  fifteen  of  those 
colors  that  were  borne  at  Pea  Ridge,  waved  at  Shiloh, 
glorified  at  Stone  River,  riddled  at  Chickamauga.  Three 
times  the  flag  of  the  2yth  Illinois  goes  down.  And  you 
know  why.  Three  dead  color  sergeants  lie  just  there  ;  but 
the  flag  is  immortal — thank  God  !  —  and  up  it  comes  again, 
and  the  men  in  a  row  of  inverted  V's  move  on. 

I  give  a  look  at  the  sun  behind  me  ;  it  is  not  more  than  a 
handbreadth  from  the  edge  of  the  mountain.  Oh,  for  the 
voice  that  could  bid  that  sun  stand  still !  I  turn  to  the 
battle  again.  Those  three  flags  have  taken  flight.  They 
are  upward  bound !  The  race  of  the  flags  is  growing  every 
moment  more  terrible.  The  iron  sledge  beats  on.  Hearts, 
loyal  and  brave,  are  on  the  anvil  all  the  way  from  base  to 
summit  of  Mission  Ridge,  but  those  dreadful  hammers  never 
intermit.  Things  are  growing  desperate  up  aloft;  the  enemy 
tumble  rocks  upon  the  rising  line  ;  they  light  the  fuses  and 
roll  shells  down  the  steep  ;  they  load  the  guns  with  handfuls 
of  cartridges  in  their  haste  ;  and,  as  if  there  were  powder  in 
the  word,  they  shout  "  Chickamauga !  "  down  upon  the 
mountaineers. 

But  all  would  not  do,  and  just  as  the  sun,  weary  of  the 
scene,  was  sinking  out  of  sight,  with  magnificent  bursts  all 
along  the  line,  exactly  as  you  have  seen  the  crested  seas  leap 
up  at  the  breakwater,  the  advance  surged  over  the  crest 
and  in  a  minute  those  flags  fluttered  along  the  fringe  where 
fifty  guns  were  kenneled.  The  scene  on  that  narrow  plateau 
can  never  be  painted.  As  the  bluecoats  surged  over  its 
edge,  cheer  on  cheer  rang  like  bells  through  the  valley  of 
the  Chickamauga.  Men  flung  themselves  exhausted  upon 


•122  THE    NEW    CENTURY    SPEAKER. 

the  ground.  They  laughed  and  wept,  shook  hands,  em- 
braced, turned  round,  and  did  all  four  over  again.  It  was 
wild  as  a  carnival.  The  general  was  received  with  a  shout. 
"  Soldiers,"  he  said,  "  you  ought  to  be  court-martialed,  every 
man  of  you.  I  ordered  you  to  take  the  rifle-pits,  and  you 
scaled  the  mountain  !  " 


THE  SUNDAY  NEWSPAPER. 

HERRICK  JOHNSON,  D.D. 

WHAT  is  the  Sunday  newspaper  ?  Let  us  be  honest.  It 
is  not  the  newspaper  in  partnership  with  Sunday,  to  promote 
mutual  interests  and  share  the  profits.  The  only  mutual' 
interests  that  are  promoted  are  those  represented  by  the 
maxim  of  the  boy  in  tossing  up  the  penny- :  "  Heads,  I  win  ; 
tails,  you  lose."  The  profits  all  go  to  the  newspaper,  and 
Sunday  stands  all  the  losses. 

The  Sunday  paper  is  simply  the  daily  paper  thrust  into 
Sunday.  When  the  newspaper  first  appeared  on  Sunday  it 
changed  its  clothes  a  little.  It  was  padded  with  pious 
homily,  as  they  pad  the  sacred  concerts  with  "  Sweet  By  and 
By  "  and  the  "  Doxology  in  long  meter";  but  the  wolf  soon 
got  tired  of  trying  to  look  like  a  sheep,  and  now  the  wolf 
enters  Sunday  with  scarcely  a  bit  of  the  woolly  fleece  left 
that  he  put  on  when  he  was  keeping  up  appearances.  It  is 
a  vast  blanket  of  information.  Some  of  it,  —  a  great  deal 
of  it,  —  not  inherently  unwholesome  ;  but  all  of  it  secular, 
worldly,  of  the  earth,  earthy;  and  some  of  it,  —  very  often  a 
great  deal  of  it,  —  pernicious  and  unclean. 

Why  is  it  here  ?  Some  say,  "  Because  the  people  wanted 
it."  This  is  a  free  country,  and  I  would  be  behind  no  one 
in  defense  of  personal  liberty  and  the  rights  of  the  people. 


THE    SUNDAY    NEWSPAPER.  12$ 

But  let  that  doctrine  be  pressed,  push  it  far  enough,  let  it 
once  be  understood  that  what  the  people  want  the  people 
must  have,  and  we  have  begun  to  play  sad  havoc  with  our 
morals.  I  suppose  the  people  out  in  Utah  wanted  polyg- 
amy; they  would  vote  for  it  to-day,  by  a  rousing  majority, 
but  the  government  does  not  intend  to  let  them  have  it. 
Down  South  they  wanted  slavery,  and,  alas  !  the  government 
was  disposed  to  foster  it  and  compromise  with  it ;  but  in  the 
thunder  of  our  civil  war  God  said,  "Let  my  people  go." 
The  Anarchists  of  Haymarket  Square,  Chicago,  wanted  a 
larger  liberty  ;  but  American  justice  took  anarchy  by  the 
throat  and  hanged  it  by  the  neck  till  it  was  dead,  and  buried 
it  out  of  sight.  Clearly,  what  the  people  want  is  not  always 
best  that  the  people  should  have. 

Again,  it  is  pleaded  that  it  is  a  necessity  of  our  times. 
But  there  is  Toronto,  a  city  of  no  mean  repute.  It  has  no 
Sunday  newspaper.  "  Yes,"  say  New  York  and  Chicago, 
"  but  Toronto  is  rural,  a  slow  coach,  a  country  town,  hardly 
in  touch  with  the  times.  No  Sunday  paper  may  do  for 
Toronto,  but  it  won't  do  for  a  city  astir  with  modern  enter- 
prise and  vast  populations."  Well,  there  is  London.  London 
is  large  enough,  is  it  not  ?  London  is  enterprising  enough, 
is  it  not  ?  It  is  five  or  six  times  as  large  as  Chicago,  and 
two  or  three  times  as  large  as  New  York.  Yet  London  has 
no  Sunday  newspaper.  Don't  you  see  that  the  plea  of 
necessity  is  simply  an  absurdity  ?  The  Sunday  newspaper 
is  here  simply  for  the  money  there  is  in  it. 

But  is  there  no  religious  reading  in  these  Sunday  papers  ? 
Oh,  yes !  Here  are  the  bits  of  lamb-like  fleece,  by  exact 
mathematical  measurement,  furnished  on  a  certain  Sunday. 
The  New  York  Tribune  published  eighty-one  columns  of 
political,  special,  sensational,  criminal,  and  gossipy  matter, 
and  three-fourths  of  a  column  devoted  to  religion ;  the  New 
York  Herald,  eighty-four  columns,  with  three-fourths  of  a 


124          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

column  devoted  to  religion  ;  the  New  York  World,  ninety 
columns,  with  half  a  column  devoted  to  religion ;  the  New 
York  Sun,  ninety-seven  columns,  with  one  and  three-eighths 
columns  devoted  to  religion  ;  the  New  York  Times,  sixty- 
eight  columns,  with  one-eighth  of  a  column  devoted  to 
religion.  It  would  be  difficult  to  imagine  what  possible 
effect  that  little  homeopathic  pill  of  "  sweetness  and  light " 
N  could  possibly  have  alongside  that  vast  dose  of  crime,  world- 
liness,  and  sensationalism. 

Oh,  for  a  breath  of  the  old  Puritan  !  Doubtless  he  often 
looked  as  if  all  hope  had  been  washed  out  of  his  face.  I 
believe  his  Sabbath  was  a  little  too  grim.  But  what  men  it 
made  !  Men  of  the  martyr  spirit,  men  of  heroic  mould. 
Men  of  the  stuff  that  is  food  for  the  stake  and  the  rack. 
You  could  trust  them,  lean  on  them,  depend  on  them.  They 
were  great  fearers  of  God,  but  they  feared  neither  man  nor 
the  devil. 


THE  SUN  OF  LIBERTY. 

VICTOR  HUGO. 

WE  are  in  Russia.  The  Neva  is  frozen.  They  build 
houses  on  it ;  heavy  carriages  roll  on  its  surface.  It  is  no 
longer  water ;  it  is  rock.  The  passers-by  go  and  come  on 
this  marble  which  has  been  a  river  ;  they  improvise  a  city ; 
they  trace  out  the  streets  ;  they  open  the  shops  ;  they  sell, 
they  buy,  they  drink  ;  they  eat,  they  sleep,  they  light  fires 
on  this  water.  They  can  permit  themselves  anything.  Fear 
nothing,  do  what  they  please,  laugh,  dance  —  it  is  more 
solid  than  dry  land.  It  actually  sounds  under  the  foot  like 
granite.  Long  live  winter  !  Long  live  ice  !  There  is  ice, 
and  it  shall  stand  forever.  And  look  at  the  heavens  !  Is  it 


THE    SUN    OF    LIBERTY.  125 

day?  Is  it  night  ?  A  gleam,  wan  and  pale,  crawls  over  the 
snow.  One  would  say  that  the  sun  is  dead. 

No  ;  thou  art  not  dead,  Liberty.  On  a  day,  and  at  the 
moment  when  they  least  expect  it,  at  the  hour  when  they 
had  most  profoundly  forgotten  thee,  thou  shalt  arise.  O 
dazzling  sight !  One  will  see  thy  starlike  face  suddenly 
come  out  from  the  earth  and  shine  on  the  horizon.  On 
all  this  snow,  this  ice,  this  hard,  white  plain,  on  this  water- 
become  block,  thou  shalt  dart  thy  golden  arrow,  thy  bright 
and  burning  ray,  thy  light,  thy  heat,  thy  life.  And  then  !  do 
you  hear  that  dull  sound?  Do  you  hear  that  cracking,  deep 
and  dreadful  ?  It  is  the  breaking  of  the  ice  !  It  is  the 
Neva  which  is  tearing  loose !  It  is  the  river  which  retakes 
its  course ! 

It  is  truth,  which  is  coming  again.  It  is  progress,  which 
recommences.  It  is  humanity,  which  again  begins  its  march, 
which  drifts  full  of  fragments,  which  draws  away,  roots  out, 
carries  off,  strikes  together,  mingles,  crushes,  and  drowns  in 
its  waves,  like  the  poor,  miserable  furniture  of  a  ruin,  not 
only  the  upstart  empire  of  Louis  Bonaparte,  but  all  the 
establishments  and  all  the  results  of  ancient  and  eternal 
despotism.  Look  at  all  this  pass  by.  It  is  disappearing  for- 
ever. You  will  never  see  it  more.  See  that  book  half  sunk ; 
it  is  the  old  code  of  iniquity.  That  trestlework  which  has 
just  been  swallowed  up  is  the  throne  !  And  this  other 
trestlework  which  is  going  off,  it  is  —  the  scaffold  !  And 
for  this  immense  engulfing,  and  for  this  supreme  victory  of 
life  over  death,  what  has  been  the  power  necessary?  One 
of  thy  looks,  O  Sun !  One  of  thy  rays,  O  Liberty  ! 


126  THE    NEW    CENTURY    SPEAKER. 

SYDNEY   CARTON'S    DEATH. 

CHARLES  DICKENS. 

ALONG  the  Paris  .streets  the  dead  carts  rumble,  hollow 
and  harsh.  Six  tumbrils  are  carrying  the  day's  wine  to  la 
guillotine.  All  the  devouring  and  insatiate  monsters  imag- 
ined since  imagination  could  record  itself  are  fused  in  the 
one  realization  —  guillotine. 

As  the  somber  wheels  of  the  six  carts  go  round,  they 
seem  to  plow  up  a  long,  crooked  furrow  among  the  populace 
in  the  streets.  Ridges  of  faces  are  thrown  to  this  side  and 
to  that,  and  the  plows  go  steadily  onward.  There  is  a  guard 
of  sundry  horsemen  riding  abreast  of  the  tumbrils,  and  faces 
are  often  turned  up  to  some  of  them,  and  they  are  asked 
some  question.  It  would  seem  to  be  always  the  same  ques- 
tion, "  Which  is  Evremonde  ?  "  for  the  answer  is  always  fol- 
lowed by  a  press  of  people  toward  the  third  cart.  He 
stands  at  the  neck  of  the  tumbril,  with  his  head  bent  down 
to  converse  with  a  mere  girl  who  sits  on  the  side  of  the  cart 
and  holds  his  hand.  Here  and  there  in  the  long  Street  of 
St.  Honore'  cries  are  raised  against  him.  "  Down,  Evre- 
monde !  To  the  guillotine,  all  aristocrats  !  Down, 
Evremonde  !  " 

The  clocks  are  on  the  stroke  of  three,  and  the  furrow 
plowed  among  the  populace  is  turning  round,  to  come  on 
into  the  place  of  execution,  and  end.  The  ridges  thrown  to 
this  side  and  to  that  now  crumble  in  and  close  behind  the 
last  plow  as  it  passes  on,  for  all  are  following  to  the  guillo- 
tine. In  front  of  it,  seated  in  chairs  as  in  a  garden  of  pub- 
lic diversion,  are  a  number  of  women  busily  knitting.  The 
tumbrils  begin  to  discharge  their  loads.  The  ministers  of 
Saint  Guillotine  are  robed  and  ready.  Crash  !  A  head  is 
held  up,  and  the  knitting  women,  who  scarcely  lifted  their 


SYDNEY  CARTON'S  DEATH.        127 

eyes  to  look  at  it  a  moment  ago  when  it  could  think  and 
speak,  count  One.  The  second  tumbril  empties  and  moves 
on  ;  the  third  comes  up.  Crash  !  —  and  the  knitting  women, 
never  faltering  or  pausing  in  their  work,  count  Two. 

The  supposed  Evremonde  descends,  and  the  seamstress 
is  lifted  out  next  after  him.  He  has  not  relinquished  her 
patient  hand  in  getting  out,  but  still  holds  it,  as  he  promised. 
He  gently  places  her  with  her  back  to  the  crashing  engine 
that  constantly  whirs  up  and  falls,  and  she  looks  into  his 
face  and  thanks  him.  The  two  stand  in  the  fast-thinning 
throng  of  victims,  but  they  speak  as  if  they  were  alone. 
Eye  to  eye,  voice  to  voice,  hand  to  hand,  heart  to  heart, 
these  two  children  of  the  Universal  Mother,  else  so  wide 
apart  and  differing,  have  qome  together  on  the  dark  high- 
way, to  repair  home  together  and  to  rest  in  her  bosom. 
They  solemnly  bless  each  other.  She  goes  next  before 
him  —  is  gone  ;  the  knitting  women  count  Twenty-two. 

"  I  am  the  Resurrection  and  the  Life,  saith  the  Lord  ;  he 
that  believeth  in  me,  though  he  were  dead,  yet  shall  he 
live  ;  and  whosoever  liveth  and  believeth  in  me  shall 
never  die." 

The  murmuring  of  many  voices,  the  upturning  of  many 
faces,  the  pressing  on  of  many  footsteps  in  the  outskirts  of 
the  crowd,  so  that  it  swells  forward  in  a  mass  like  one  great 
heave  of  water,  all  flashes  away.  Twenty-three. 

They  said  of  him,  about  the  city  that  night,  that  it  was 
the  peacefulest  man's  face  ever  beheld  there.  If  he  had 
given  any  utterance  to  his  thoughts,  and  they  were  prophetic, 
they  would  have  been  these  :  "  I  see  the  lives  for  which  I 
lay  down  my  life  peaceful,  useful,  prosperous,  and  happy, 
in  that  England  which  I  shall  see  no  more.  I  see  her  with 
a  child  upon  her  bosom,  who  bears  my  name.  I  see  her 
father  aged  and  bent,  but  otherwise  restored,  and  faithful 
to  all  men  in  his  healing  office,  and  at  peace. 


128          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

"  I  see  that  I  hold  a  sanctuary  in  their  hearts,  and  in  the 
hearts  of  their  descendants  generations  hence.  I  see  Jjwrt 
child,  who  lay  upon  her  bosom  and  bore  my  name,  a  man 
winning  his  way  up  in  that  path  of  life  which  once  was  mine. 
I  see  him  winning  it  so  well  that  my  name  is  ma^Je  illustri- 
ous there  by  the  light  of  his.  I  see  the  blots  I  threw 
upon  it  faded  away.  I  see  him,  foremost  of  just  judges  and 
honored  men,  bringing  a  boy  of  my  name,  with  a  forehead 
that  I  know  and  golden  hair,  to  thj.s  place  —  then  fair  to 
look  upon,  with  not  a  trace  of  this  day's  disfigurement  — 
and  I  hear  him  tell  the  child  my  story,  with  a  tender  and  a 
faltering  voice. 

"  It  is  a  far,  far  better  thing  that  I  do  than  I  have  ever 
done  ;  it  is  a  far,  far  better  rest  that  I  go  to  than  I  have 
ever  known." 


THE   TRAITOR'S    DEATHBED. 

GEORGE  LIPPARD. 

FIFTY  years  ago,  in  a  rude  garret  near  the  loneliest 
suburbs  of  the  city  of  London,  lay  a  dying  man.  He  was 
but  half  dressed,  though  his  legs  were  concealed  in  long 
military  boots.  An  aged  minister  stood  beside  the  rough 
couch.  The  form  was  that  of  a  strong  man  grown  old 
through  care  more  than  age.  There  was  a  face  that  you 
might  look  upon  but  once,  and  yet  wear  it  in  your  memory 
forever.  Ay,  there  was  something  terrible  in  that  face, 
something  so  full  of  unnatural  loneliness,  unspeakable 
despair,  that  the  aged  minister  started  back  in  horror.  But 
look  !  those  strong  arms  are  clutching  at  the  vacant  air ;  the 
death  sweat  stands  in  drops  on  that  bold  brow ;  the  man  is 
dying.  Throb,  throb,  throb,  beats  the  death  watch  in  the 


THE  TRAITOR'S  DEATHBED.  129 

shattered  wall.  "  Would  you  die  in  the  faith  of  the  Christian  ?  " 
faltered  the  preacher,  as  he  knelt  there  on  the  damp  floor. 

The  white  lips  of  the  death-stricken  man  trembled,  but 
made  no  sound.  Then,  with  the  strong  agony  of  death  upon 
him,  he  rose  into  a  sitting  posture.  For  the  first  time  he 
spoke.  "  Christian  !  "  he  echoed,  in  that  deep  tone  which 
thrilled  the  preacher  to  the  heart  ;  "  will  that  give  me  back 
my  honor  ?  Come  with  me,  old  man,  come  with  me,  far 
over  the  waters.  Ha!  we  are  there!  This  is  my  native 
town.  Yonder  is  the  church  in  which  I  knelt  in  childhood ; 
yonder  the  green  on  which  I  sported  when  a  boy.  But 
another  flag  waves  there,  in  the  place  of  the  flag  that  waved 
when  I  was  a  child.  And  listen,  old  man.  Were  I  to  pass 
along  the  streets,  as  I  passed  when  but  a  child,  the  very 
babes  in  their  cradles  would  raise  their  tiny  hands  and  curse 
me  !  The  graves  in  yonder  churchyard  would  shrink  from 
my  footsteps,  and  yonder  flag  would  rain  a  baptism  of  blood 
upon  my  head  !  " 

Suddenly  the  dying  man  arose;  he  tottered  along  the  floor, 
threw  open  a  valise,  and  drew  thence  a  faded  coat  of  blue, 
faced  with  silver,  and  the  wreck  of  a  battle-flag. 

"  Look  ye,  priest !  This  faded  coat  is  spotted  with  my 
blood  !  "  he  cried,  as  old  memories  seemed  stirring  at  his 
heart.  "  This  coat  I  wore  when  I  first  heard  the  news  of 
Lexington  ;  this  coat  I  wore  when  I  planted  the  banner  of 
the  stars  on  Ticonderoga  !  That  bullet  hole  was  pierced  in 
the  fight  of  Quebec  ;  and  now  I  am  a  —  let  me  whisper  it 
in  your  ear !  "  He  hissed  that  single  burning  word  into  the 
minister's  ear.  "  Now  help  me,  priest !  help  me  to  put  on 
this  coat  of  blue  ;  for  you  see  "  —  and  a  ghastly  smile  came 
over  his  face  —  "  there  is  no  one  here  to  wipe  the  cold 
drops  from  my  brow,  no  wife,  no  child.  I  must  meet  death 
alone  ;  but  I  will  meet  him,  as  I  have  met  him  in  battle, 
without  a  fear." 


I3O  THE    NEW    CENTURY    SPEAKER. 

And  while  he  stood  arraying  his  limbs  in  that  worm-eaten 
coat  of  blue  and  silver  the  good  minister  spoke  to  him  of 
that  great  faith  which  pierces  the  clouds  of  human  guilt 
and  rolls  them  back  from  the  face  of  God.  "  Faith  !  " 
echoed  that  strange  man  who  stood  there  erect  with  the 
death  chill  on  his  brow;  "  Faith  !  Can  it  give  me  back  my 
honor  ?  Look  ye,  priest !  There,  over  the  waves,  sits 
George  Washington,  telling  to  his  comrades  the  pleasant 
story  of  the  eight  years'  war  !  There,  in  his  royal  halls,  sits 
George  of  England,  bewailing,  in  his  idiotic  voice,  the  loss 
of  the  colonies  !  And  here  am  I  —  I,  who  was  the  first  to 
raise  the  flag  of  freedom,  the  first  to  strike  a  blow  against 
that  king  —  here  am  I  dying  !  oh,  dying  like  a  dog !  " 

The  awe-stricken  preacher  started  back  from  the  look  of 
the  dying  man,  while  throb,  throb,  throb,  beats  the  death 
watch  in  the  shattered  wall.  "  Hush  !  silence  along  the 
lines  there  !  "  he  muttered  in  that  wild,  absent  tone,  as 
though  speaking  to  the  dead.  "  Silence  along  the  lines  ! 
not  a  word  —  not  a  word  on  peril  of  your  lives  !  Hark  you, 
Montgomery !  we  will  meet  in  the  center  of  the  town ;  we  will 
meet  there  in  victory,  or  die  !  —  Hist  —  Hist !  silence,  my 
men ;  not  a  whisper  as  we  move  up  those  steep  rocks  !  Now 
on,  my  boys  ;  now  on  !  Men  of  the  wilderness,  we  will  gain 
the  town  !  Now  up  with  the  banner  of  the  stars  !  Up  with 
the  flag  of  freedom,  though  the  night  is  dark  and  the  snow 
falls  !  Now  !  now  one  more  blow,  and  Quebec  is  ours  !  " 

The  aged  minister  unrolls  that  faded  flag ;  it  is  a  blue 
banner  gleaming  with  thirteen  stars.  He  unrolls  that  parch- 
ment ;  it  is  a  colonel's  commission  in  the  Continental  Army, 
addressed  to  Benedict  Arnold.  And  there,  in  that  rude  hut, 
while  the  death  watch  throbbed  like  a  heart  in  the  shattered 
wall,  there,  unknown,  unwept,  in  all  the  bitterness  of  deso- 
lation, lay  the  corpse  of  the  patriot  and  the  traitor. 


TWO    OF    DICKENS     VILLAINS.  13! 

TWO  OF  DICKENS'  VILLAINS. 

JULIEN  M.  ELLIOTT. 

DICKENS  has  painted  many  portraits  of  villainy.  But  no 
two  are  in  more  striking  contrast  than  his  familiar  charac- 
ters of  James  Steerforth  in  David  Copperfield  and  Bill  Sykes 
in  Oliver  Twist.  For  the  betrayer  of  virtue,  refined,  courte- 
ous, insinuating,  society  has  scarcely  more  than  a  frown ; 
but  from  a  Bill  Sykes  it  recoils  as  from  a  maddened  tiger. 
Yet  a  Bill  Sykes  strikes  no  deadlier  blow  than  can  be  dealt 
with  a  pistol  or  a  bludgeon,  but  the  Steerforths  are  the 
murderers  of  souls. 

Widely  separated  in  life  as  gentleman  and  ruffian,  they 
come  together  at  last  as  villains  ;  and,  as  if  meeting  on  the 
borders  of  time  the  vengeance  of  God,  go  down  alike  to  an 
unnatural  death. 

A  storm  is  breaking  on  the  coast  of  England.  It  nears 
the  Yarmouth  Beach  and  the  house  of  the  old  fisherman 
whom  the  villainy  of  Steerforth  has  robbed  of  his  little 
Emily.  It  is  months  and  years  since  was  heard  that  wail  of 
anguish  :  "  Her  that  I  'd  have  died  for,  and  would  die  for 
now,  is  gone,  gone  !  " 

But  the  hour  of  retribution  is  at  hand.  A  ship  heaves  in 
sight,  strained,  shattered,  dismasted.  It  rises  to  the  top  of 
an  enormous  wave,  rides  it,  and  again  sinks  from  view.  As 
the  moon  breaks  through  the  clouds  and  throws  its  light 
upon  the  struggling  vessel,  from  the  men  and  women  along 
the  shore  comes  the  cry  :  "  God  help  them  —  she  is  parting 
amidships." 

There  was  a  bell  on  board,  and  as  the  vessel  rolled  and 
reeled  on  her  side  it  was  heard  through  the  storm  as  if 
tolling  a  funeral  knell.  At  length  the  form  of  a  man  is  seen 
clinging  to  a  broken  mast.  There  was  a  wave  of  a  sailor's 
hat,  but  the  beckoning  signal  seemed  to  have  its  only 


132         THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

answer  in  the  bell  as  it  rang  out  above  the  roar  of  the  sea 
its  mocking,  warning  note  of  despair. 

An  hour  after  a  human  form  was  washed  ashore.  And 
there,  as  if  directed  by  some  retributive  hand,  "  among  the 
ruins  of  the  home  he  had  wronged,"  lay  the  lifeless  body  of 
James  Steerforth,  cast  up  by  the  sea. 

The  murder  of  Nancy  by  Sykes,  his  remorse,  flight,  and 
death,  form  a  very  different  picture;  yet  the  lesson  is  the 
same.  All  the  savage  brutality  of  the  outlaw's  nature  rises 
within  him  as  he  fancies  himself  betrayed.  He  hastens  to 
the  hovel,  where  lies  in  slumber  his  unsuspecting  victim, 
rouses  her,  and  deals  the  fatal  blow.  The  cold  gray  light 
of  the  morning  breaks  in  upon  that  room  before  he  has  the 
courage  to  move.  At  length  desperation  seizes  him. 
Whither  can  he  flee  to  escape  the  sight  of  those  eyes  that 
glare  upon  him  with  a  light  not  of  earth?  As  he  leaves 
the  city  every  object  becomes  the  semblance  of  some  fear- 
ful thing.  The  very  trees  seem  to  point  their  fingers  at 
him.  As  he  turns  here  and  there,  he  can  see  the  ghastly 
figure  of  his  morning's  work  following  closely  at  his  heels. 
Everywhere  that  he  goes  those  widely  staring  eyes,  so  luster- 
less  and  so  glassy,  glare  upon  him,  mocking  and  driving 
him  mad. 

At  last  he  resolves  to  venture  to  London.  "  There 's 
some  one  to  speak  to  there,  at  all  events,"  he  says. 

He  reaches  one  of  his  old  haunts,  but  all  turn  from  him  in 
fear  and  terror.  Hark,  the  knocking,  knocking  at  the  gate ! 
The  infuriated  crowd  of  pursuers  are  close  upon  him  —  they 
are  breaking  the  door.  In  wild  despair  he  reaches  the  roof 
of  the  house,  and  Watches  them  from  above.  A  rope  is  in 
his  hands ;  he  fastis  it  to  a  chimney,  striving  to  escape  on 
the  other  side.  "  At  the  very  instant  when  he  brought  the 
loop  over  his  head,  the  murderer,  looking  behind  him  on  the 
roof,  threw  his  arms  above  his  head,  uttered  a  yell  of  terror, 


TWO    QUEENS.  133 

'the  eyes!'  again,  'the  eyes!'  He  staggered  and  fell 
back.  The  noose  was  on  his  neck,  the  rope  ran  up  with 
his  weight,  and  left  him  swinging  in  mid-air."  The  quiver- 
ing hemp  tightened,  slackened  again,  leaving  a  dark,  miser- 
able picture  against  the  light  ground  of  the  house.  Surely, 
"  the  wages  of  sin  is  death." 


TWO   QUEENS. 

FRANKLIN  ADDINGTON. 

THE  combatants  are  women,  the  weapons  treachery  and 
intrigue,  the  object  a  crown.  Deadly  enemies  in  life,  their 
claims  are  the  sharpest  fought  in  death.  And  yet  they  are 
women,  ruling  nations  at  peace  ;  women  bound  together  by 
ties  of  blood;  women  who  never  ceased  to  call  each  other 
by  the  sweet  name  of  sister. 

The  character  of  "  good  Queen  Bess  "  is  a  study.  Child- 
ish, frivolous,  vain, —  she  could  trample  down  pride,  repel 
insult,  brave  danger.  To-day,  aping  a  girl  of  sixteen ;  to- 
morrow, outmatching  with  her  wisdom  hoary-headed  states- 
men ;  to-day,  the  laughing  stock  of  her  maids;  to-morrow, 
defying  Europe  from  her  island  throne. 

Mary  Stuart,  lacking  in  some  degree  Elizabeth's  wisdom 
and  prudence  and,  above  all,  Elizabeth's  self-control,  was 
more  rapid,  more  daring,  more  decided.  More  amiable  than 
her  rival,  she  was  more  selfish  ;  more  womanly,  she  was  more 
remorseless.  See  her  in  prosperity ;  how  earnestly  she  urges 
the  claims  of  a  poor  old  servant.  See  her  a  "  dethroned 
outcast,"  in  the  midst  of  her  flight ;  with  her  own  hand  she 
writes  to  her  rival,  "  fierce,  dauntless,  haughty  as  ever."  See 
her  in  prison  ;  not  for  liberty,  not  for  life  will  she  "  sell  her 
birthright." 


134          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

The  "  defender  of  Protestantism,"  Elizabeth  is  the  ally 
of  Spain  and  at  war  with  France.  Her  realm  is  exhausted, 
disordered,  treacherous, — "  steadfast  enemies,  but  no  stead- 
fast friends."  Within,  as  about  her,  is  going  on  a  tragic 
struggle.  A  struggle  of  prudence  and  sense  against  woman's 
inclination,  woman's  weakness,  woman's  love.  "  Name, 
throne,  and  very  soul  "  are  in  peril. 

Meanwhile  her  quick-witted  rival  is  on  the  alert,  pursuing 
without  scruple,  without  remorse,  her  aim.  Believing  herself 
a  "  favorite  of  fortune,"  Mary  is  resolute,  earnest.  Now  it 
is  that  human  wickedness,  as  "  sudden,  as  awful  as  a  divine 
dispensation,"  seems  to  take  upon  itself  the  working  out  of 
this  royal  tragedy.  Rizzio  is  killed,  and  the  woman  becomes 
a  fiend.  Darnley  is  murdered,  an,d  the  "  hopeful  champion 
of  Popish  and  Spanish  intrigue  "  is  a  hunted  murderess,  a 
betrayed  guest,  a  prisoner  for  life. 

Henceforth  it  is  Elizabeth  who  prospers.  Henceforth 
Mary's  story  is  the  story  of  her  wrongs,  her  sufferings,  her 
death. 

The  last  scene  came  to  these  rivals  with  the  same  force 
of  contrast.  Mary  Stuart  died  by  "  vile  hands  and  viler 
practise,"  indeed,  but  with  friendly  hearts  near  her,  and  with 
Europe  to  look  on,  "  to  admire,  to  applaud,  to  bewail  her." 
Elizabeth,  the  renowned,  the  feared,  the  "  idol  at  home,  the 
terror  abroad,"  lies  on  her  palace  floor  gradually  wasting 
into  death  under  the  terrible  fangs  of  remorse.  "  Helpless, 
hopeless,  comfortless,"  her  last  words  an  acknowledgment 
of  her  rival's  claims,  her  last  act  an  act  of  despair,  "  a  dumb 
appeal  to  God  or  man."  The  great  Queen  Elizabeth,  who, 
"  for  the  sake  of  her  country,"  denied  herself  the  dearest 
things  to  woman's  existence,  wins  no  man's  heart  in  life,  no 
man's  sympathy  in  death. 

Mary  Stuart  yet  walks  the  earth  "  an  enchantress."  Her 
name  is  a  synonym  for  all  that  is  winning,  all  that  is  fascinat- 


THE  GREATNESS  OF  STONEWALL  JACKSON.    135 

ing  in  woman.  Mary  Stuart  had  all  she  sought  but  the 
throne  of  England.  Elizabeth,  all  the  queen  could  ask, 
nothing  the  woman  wanted,  longed  for ;  no  happiness  in 
youth,  no  love  in  life,  no  consolation  in  death. 


THE   UNCONSCIOUS   GREATNESS   OF  STONEWALL 
JACKSON. 

MOSES  D.  HOGE,  D.D. 

THE  greatness  of  Stonewall  Jackson  was  an  unconscious 
greatness.  It  was  the  supreme  devotion  to  what  he  thought 
was  duty.  Hence  he  studied  no  dramatic  effects.  When 
among  the  mountains,  pyramids  older  than  those  to  which 
the  first  Napoleon  pointed,  he  did  not  remind  his  men  that 
the  centuries  were  looking  down  upon  them.  When  on  the 
plains  he  drilled  no  eagles  to  perch  upon  his  banners,  as  the 
third  Napoleon  is  said  to  have  done. 

The  letter  written  to  his  pastor  at  Lexington  the  day  after 
the  first  battle  of  Manassas  gives  the  keynote  to  his  char- 
acter. Preceding  any  accurate  account  of  that  event,  a  crowd 
had  gathered  around  the  post  office,  awaiting  with  intensest 
interest  the  opening  of  the  mail.  The  first  letter  was  handed 
to  the  Rev.  Dr.  White.  It  was  from  General  Jackson.  "  Now 
we  shall  know  all,"  said  his  reverend  friend.  But  he  opened 
the  letter  to  read  : 

MY  DEAR  PASTOR  : 

In  my  tent  last  night,  after  a  fatiguing  day's 
service,  I  remembered  that  I  had  failed  to  send  you  my  contribu- 
tion to  our  colored  Sunday  school.  Inclosed  you  will  find  my 
check  for  that  object.  Yours  faithfully> 

THOMAS  J.  JACKSON. 


136          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

Not  a  word  about  a  conflict  which  electrified  a  nation  ! 
Not  an  allusion  to  the  splendid  part  he  had  taken  in  it  !  Not 
a  reference  to  himself  beyond  the  fact  that  it  had  been  a 
fatiguing  day's  service  !  And  yet  that  was  a  day  ever  mem- 
orable in  his  history  —  memorable  in  all  history  —  when  he 
received  the  name  destined  to  supplant  the  name  his  parents 
gave  him,  —  Stonewall  Jackson. 

When  his  brigade  of  twenty-six  hundred  men  had  for 
hours  withstood  the  iron  tempest  which  broke  upon  it ;  when 
the  Confederate  right  had  been  overwhelmed  in  the  rush  of 
resistless  numbers,  General  Bee  rode  up  to  Jackson,  and  with 
despairing  bitterness  exclaimed  :  "  General,  they  are  beating 
us  back."  "  Then,"  said  Jackson,  "  we  will  give  them  the 
bayonet."  Bee  seemed  to  catch  the  inspiration  of  his  deter- 
mined will,  and,  galloping  back  to  the  broken  fragments  of 
his  overtaxed  command,  exclaimed  :  "There  is  Jackson  stand- 
ing like  a  stone  wall.  Rally  behind  the  Virginians !"  From 
that  time  Jackson's  was  known  as  the  "  Stonewall  Brigade," 
—  a  name  henceforth  immortal,  for  the  christening  was  in 
the  blood  of  its  author.  And  that  wall  of  brave  hearts  was 
on  every  battlefield  a  steadfast  bulwark  of  their  country. 

In  the  state  where  all  that  is  mortal  of  this  great  hero 
sleeps  there  is  a  natural  bridge  of  rock  whose  massive  arch, 
fashioned  with  grace  by  the  hand  of  God,  springs  lightly 
toward  the  sky,  spanning  a  chasm  into  whose  awful  depths 
the  beholder  looks  down  bewildered  and  awe-struck.  But 
its  grandeur  is  not  diminished  because  tender  vines  clamber 
over  its  gigantic  piers  or  because  sweet  flowers  nestle  in  its 
crevices.  Nor  is  the  granite  strength  of  Jackson's  character 
weakened  because  in  every  throb  of  his  heart  there  was  a 
pulsation  ineffably  and  exquisitely  tender.  The  hum  of  bees, 
the  fragrance  of  clover  fields,  the  tender  streaks  of  dawn, 
the  dewy  brightness  of  early  spring,  the  mellow  glories  of 
matured  autumn,  all  in  turn  charmed  and  tranquilized  him. 


THE  GREATNESS  OF  STONEWALL  JACKSON. 

The  eye  that  flashed  amid  the  smoke  of  battle  grew  soft  in 
contemplating  the  beauty  of  a  flower.  The  ear  that  thrilled 
with  the  thunder  of  the  cannonade  drank  in  with  innocent 
delight  the  song  of  birds  and  the  prattle  of  children's  voices. 
The  voice  whose  sharp  and  ringing  tones  had  so  often  been 
heard  uttering  the  command,  "  Give  them  the  bayonet !  " 
culled  even  from  foreign  tongues  terms  of  endearment.  And 
the  man  who  filled  two  hemispheres  with  his  fame  was  never 
so  happy  as  when  telling  the  colored  children  of  his  Sunday 
school  the  story  of  the  Cross. 

It  was  in  the  noontide  of  his  glory  that  he  fell.  What  a 
pall  of  sadness  shrouded  the  whole  land !  And  where  in  the 
annals  of  the  world's  sorrow  was  there  such  a  pathetic  imper- 
sonation of  a  people's  grief  as  was  embodied  in  the  old  muti- 
lated veteran  of  Jackson's  division  who,  as  the  shades  of 
evening  fell  and  the  doors  of  the  Capitol  were  being  closed 
for  the  last  time,  was  seen  anxiously  pressing  through  the 
crowd  to  take  his  last  look  at  the  face  of  his  beloved  leader. 
They  told  him  that  he  was  too  late,  that  they  were  closing 
the  coffin  for  the  last  time.  But  the  old  soldier,  lifting  the 
stump  of  his  right  arm  toward  the  heavens,  and  with  tears 
running  down  his  face,  exclaimed :  "  By  the  right  arm  which 
I  lost  for  my  country,  I  demand  the  privilege  of  seeing  my 
general  once  more."  So  irresistible  was  the  appeal  that 
the  governor  ordered  the  ceremonies  to  be  stayed  until  the 
humble  comrade  had  dropped  his  tear  upon  the  face  of  his 
dead  leader. 


138  THE    NEW    CENTURY    SPEAKER. 


THE   UNKNOWN   RIDER. 

GEORGE  LIPPARD. 

IT  was  the  yth  of  October,  1777.  Horatio  Gates  stood 
before  his  tent,  gazing  steadfastly  upon  the  two  armies,  now 
arrayed  in  order  of  battle.  It  was  a  clear,  bracing  day, 
mellow  with  the  richness  of  autumn.  The  sky  was  cloudless  ; 
the  foliage  of  the  woods  scarce  tinged  with  purple  and  gold. 
But  the  tread  of  legions  shook  the  ground  ;  from  every 
bush  shot  the  glimmer  of  the  rifle  barrel  ;  on  every  hillside 
blazed  the  sharpened  bayonet.  But  all  at  once  a  smoke 
arose,  a  thunder  shook  the  ground,  and  a  chorus  of  shouts 
and  groans  yelled  along  the  darkened  air.  The  play  of  death 
had  begun.  The  two  flags,  this  of  the  stars,  that  of  the  red 
cross,  tossed  amid  the  smoke  of  battle,  while  the  sky  was 
clouded  with  leaden  folds,  and  the  earth  throbbed  with  the 
pulsations  of  a  mighty  heart. 

Suddenly,  Gates  and  his  officers  were  startled.  Along  the 
height  on  which  they  stood  came  a  rider  upon  a  black  horse 
rushing  toward  the  distant  battle.  Look  !  he  draws  his 
sword,  the  sharp  blade  quivers  through  the  air ;  he  points  to 
the  distant  battle,  and  lo  !  he  is  gone,  gone  through  those 
clouds,  while  his  shout  echoes  over  the  plains.  Wherever 
the  fight  is  thickest,  there,  through  intervals  of  cannon 
.smoke,  you  may  see,  riding  madly  forward,  that  strange 
soldier,  mounted  on  his  steed  black  as  death.  Look  at  him 
as,  with  face  red  with  British  blood,  he  waves  his  sword  and 
shouts  to  his  legions.  Now  you  may  see  him  fighting  in  that 
cannon's  glare,  and  in  the  next  moment  he  is  away  off 
yonder,  leading  the  forlorn  hope  up  that  steep  cliff. 

Look  for  a  moment  into  those  clouds  of  battle.  There 
bursts  a  band  of  American  militiamen,  fleeing  before  that 
company  of  redcoat  hirelings,  who  come  rushing  forward, 


THE    UNKNOWN    RIDER.  139 

their  solid  front  of  bayonets  gleaming  in  the  battle  light.  In 
the  moment  of  their  flight  a  horse  comes  crashing  over  the 
plains.  The  unknown  rider  reins  his  steed  back  on  his 
haunches,  right  in  the  path  of  these  broad-shouldered  militia- 
men. "  What  !  are  you  Americans,  men,  and  flee  before 
British  soldiers  ?  "  he  shouts.  "  Back  again,  and  face  them 
once  more,  or  I  myself  will  ride  you  down  ! "  Their  leader 
turns  ;  his  comrades,  as  if  by  one  impulse,  follow  his  example. 
In  one  line,  but  thirty  men  in  all,  they  confront  thirty  sharp 
bayonets.  The  British  advance.  "  Now  upon  the  rebels, 
charge  !  "  shouts  the  redcoat  officer.  They  spring  forward 
at  the  same  bound.  At  this  moment  the  voice  of  the 
unknown  rider  is  heard :  "  Now  let  them  have  it !  Fire  !  " 
A  sound  is  heard,  a  smoke  is  seen,  twenty  Britons  are  down. 
The  remaining  ten  start  back.  "  Club  your  rifles  and  charge 
them  home  ! "  shouts  the  unknown.  That  black  horse  springs 
forward,  followed  by  the  militiamen.  Then  a  confused 
conflict,  a  cry  for  quarter,  and  a  vision  of  twenty  farmers 
grouped  around  the  rider  of  the  black  horse,  greeting  him 
with  cheers. 

Thus  it  was  all  the  day  long.  Wherever  that  black  horse 
and  his  rider  went,  there  followed  victory.  At  last,  toward 
the  setting  of  the  sun,  the  crisis  of  the  conflict  came.  That 
fortress  yonder  on  Bemis'  Heights  must  be  won,  or  the 
American  cause  is  lost !  That  cliff  is  too  steep,  that  death 
is  too  certain.  The  officers  cannot  persuade  the  men  to 
advance.  The  Americans  have  lost  the  field.  Even  Morgan, 
that  iron  man  among  iron  men,  leans  on  his  rifle  and  despairs 
of  the  field.  But  look  yonder  !  In  this  moment,  when  all 
is  dismay  and  horror,  here,  crashing  on,  comes  the  black 
horse  and  his  rider.  And  now  look  !  as  that  black  steed 
crashes  up  that  steep  cliff.  That  steed  quivers  !  he  totters ! 
he  falls  !  No  !  No !  Still  on,  still  up  the  cliff,  still  on 
toward  the  fortress.  The  rider  turns  his  face  and  shouts  : 


I4O          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

"  Come  on,  men  of  Quebec  !  come  on  !  "  That  call  is  need- 
less. Already  the  bold  riflemen  are  on  the  rock.  Now, 
British  cannon,  pour  your  fires,  and  lay  your  dead  in  tens 
and  twenties  on  the  rock.  Now,  redcoat  hirelings,  shout 
your  battle  cry  if  you  can  !  For  look  !  there,  in  the  gate  of 
the  fortress,  as  the  smoke  clears  away,  stands  the  black  horse 
and  his  rider.  That  steed  falls  dead,  pierced  by  a  hundred 
balls;  but  his  rider,  as  the  British  cry  for  quarter,  lifts  up  his 
voice  and  shouts  afar  to  Horatio  Gates,  waiting  yonder  in 
his  tent :  "  Saratoga  is  won  !  "  As  that  cry  goes  up  to 
heaven  he  falls,  with  his  leg  shattered  by  a  cannon  ball. 

Who  was  the  rider  of  the  black  horse  ?  Do  you  not  guess 
his  name  ?  Then  bend  down  and  gaze  on  that  shattered 
limb,  and  you  will  see  that  it  bears  the  mark  of  a  former 
wound.  That  wound  was  received  in  the  storming  of 
Quebec.  That  rider  of  the  black  horse  was  —  Benedict 
Arnold. 


THE    VENGEANCE    OF    THE    FLAG. 

HENRY  D.  ESTERBROOKE. 

IT  was  on  the  night  of  April  14,  1865,  that  the  shot  was 
fired  which  killed  Abraham  Lincoln,  and  its  reverberation 
will  last  forever.  On  the  morning  following,  at  precisely 
8:18  of  the  clock,  Abraham  Lincoln  yielded  up  the  ghost. 
The  fatal  moment  is  notched  on  the  scythe  of  time.  Even 
the  watchmakers,  those  wardens  of  the  hours,  have  em- 
balmed that  moment  in  the  sign  of  their  calling.  In  every 
city  of  the  Union,  North  and  South,  East  and  West,  you 
have  seen  that  great  dumb,  wooden  horologe  pointing  back- 
ward to  the  dread  event.  Look  at  it  whenever  you  will,  it 
is  always  8: 18. 


THE    VENGEANCE    OF    THE    FLAG.  14! 

The  murder  of  Lincoln  was  the  most  appalling  tragedy 
ever  witnessed  in  a  theater.  On  this  mortal  night  the 
President  had  sought  to  be  amused.  He  wished  to  laugh, 
to  be  made  to  laugh  ;  and  for  this  he  had  been  criticised. 
Why  should  he  wish  to  laugh  when  every  click  of  the  tele- 
graph was  the  death  tick  of  a  soldier  ?  Why  should  he  ? 
Why  should  he  not  ?  There  has  been  too  much  of  tragedy, 
and  now  this  laughter-loving  man  would  gain  surcease  from 
the  long  tension  on  his  heartstrings  by  forgetting  fact  in 
fiction,  the  real  in  the  apparent. 

The  box  which  the  presidential  party  was  to  occupy  had 
been  appropriately  draped  with  the  Union  flag  so  arranged 
as  to  frame  the  portrait  of  George  Washington,  whose  serene 
and  august  face  smiled  from  out  its  ample  folds  as  from  an 
aureole  of  glory.  Midway  of  the  performance,  and  shortly 
after  ten  o'clock,  a  young  man  came  down  the  outer  aisle 
and  presented  his  card  to  the  President's  messenger.  Before 
the  messenger  could  fairly  glance  at  the  card,  the  young 
man  had  pushed  past  him  and  entered  the  narrow  passage 
immediately  behind  the  box  in  which  the  President  was 
seated.  Going  to  the  door  opening  into  the  box,  he  peered 
at  the  occupants  through  a  small  aperture,  also  previously 
made  for  the  purpose. 

Surely  the  noble  Lincoln  must  have  felt  some  vague  con- 
sciousness of  evil.  We  may  never  know.  In  a  moment  the 
door  was  opened,  the  murderer  entered.  There  was  a  sharp 
detonation,  a  moment's  dread  paralysis,  a  wild  commotion, 
a  clutch  at  the  fleeing  assassin,  a  fierce  imprecation,  and  the 
savage  slash  of  the  knife  as  he  freed  himself  from  the 
detaining  grasp,  his  leap  to  the  stage,  his  mock  heroics,  his 
rehearsed  magniloquence,  and  the  startled,  bewildered  cry  : 
"  The  President  is  murdered  !  " 

Instantly  with  the  pistol  shot  the  President  had  fallen 
forward.  The  dear  head  dropped,  never  to  rise  again  ;  the 


142          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

loving  heart  fluttered  into  rest,  and  Abraham  Lincoln, 
offered  by  the  All  Wise  as  a  mediator  and  an  exemplar  to 
his  distracted  countrymen,  was  with  the  "  undying  dead." 

But  what  of  the  assassin  ?  Maniacally  bold  as  now  seems 
this  murderer,  the  chances  of  capture  had  been  weighed  by 
the  murderer  and  reduced  to  a  minimum.  His  route  to  the 
South  had  been  chosen  and  carefully  studied.  His  confed- 
erates were  numerous  and  discreet.  His  finances  were  ample, 
his  equipment  was  complete.  And  yet  we  are  told  that, 
except  for  the  accident  of  his  foot,  as  he  leaped  from  the 
proscenium  box,  catching  in  the  flag,  his  escape  would  have 
been  inevitable.  But  why  call  it  an  accident  ?  It  was  no 
accident,  but  a  miracle  of  gratitude,  —  the  vengeance  of  the 
flag.  Washington  was  there.  Washington,  the  father  who 
begot  and  brought  it  forth,  seemed  for  the  moment  to  live 
again  in  its  embrace.  Lincoln,  the  savior  who  had 
redeemed  it  from  the  sin  of  slavery,  was  even  then  dying 
that  it  might  live,  the  last  quiverings  of  his  heart  pulsing  in 
all  its  breathing  folds. 

It  was  no  accident.  In  the  absence  of  human  interven- 
tion, the  flag  itself  became  an  avenger.  It  reached  forth 
and  grappled  with  the  assassin.  It  clove  to  him  like  the 
bloody  garment  of  old  mythology.  It  shrieked,  and  was 
rent  in  twain,  but  clung  —  clung  —  clung,  writhing  about 
and  binding  him  like  a  python  in  its  coils.  The  flag  was 
the  captor.  The  flag  was  its  country's  Nemesis. 

All  hail  the  flag,  sparkling  with  its  stars,  conscious  of 
itself,  its  God,  and  its  America  !  Look  up,  my  countrymen  ! 
Look  up,  poor  human  race,  look  up  to  it  in  reverence  and 
with  a  prayer  of  gratitude  !  What  wonder  that  it  seems  like 
a  gift  from  the  spirit  world,  as  though  Father  Abraham 
had  reached  it  forth  from  beyond  the  stars,  and  said : 
"  Take  it,  my  children  ;  study  it,  learn  it,  know  it,  and  love 
it  always." 


VESUVIUS    AND    THE    EGYPTIAN.  143 


VESUVIUS  AND  THE  EGYPTIAN,  FROM  ff  THE   LAST   DAYS 
OF   POMPEII." 

EDWARD  BULWER  LYTTON. 

"  GLAUCUS,  the  Athenian,  thy  time  has  come,"  said  a  loud 
and  clear  voice  ;  "  the  lion  awaits  thee." 

The  keeper,  who  was  behind  the  den,  cautiously  removed 
the  grating  ;  the  lion  leaped  forth  with  a  mighty  and  a  glad 
roar  of  release.  Glaucus  had  bent  his  limbs  so  as  to  give 
himself  the  firmest  posture  at  the  expected  rush  of  the  lion, 
with  his  small  and  shining  weapon  raised  on  high,  in  the 
faint  hope  that  one  well-directed  thrust  might  penetrate 
through  the  eye  to  the  brain  of  his  grim  foe.  But,  to  the 
unutterable  astonishment  of  all,  the  beast  halted  abruptly  in 
the  arena  ;  then  suddenly  it  sprang  forward,  but  not  on  the 
Athenian.  At  half  speed  it  circled  round  and  round  the 
space,  turning  its  vast  head  from  side  to  side  with  an 
anxious  and  perturbed  gaze,  as  if  seeking  only  some  avenue 
of  escape.  Once  or  twice  it  endeavored  to  leap  up  the 
parapet  that  divided  it  from  the  audience,  and,  on  failing, 
uttered  rather  a  baffled  howl  than  its  deep-toned  and  kingly 
roar.  The  first  surprise  of  the  assembly  at  the  apathy  of  the 
lion  soon  grew  converted  into  resentment  at  its  cowardice  ; 
and  the  populace  already  merged  their  pity  for  the  fate  of 
Glaucus  into  angry  compassion  for  their  own  disappoint- 
ment. 

Then  there  was  a  confusion,  a  bustle,  —  voices  of  remon- 
strance suddenly  breaking  forth,  and  suddenly  silenced  at 
the  reply.  All  eyes  turned,,  in  wonder  at  the  interruption, 
towards  the  quarter  of  the  disturbance.  The  crowd  gave 
way,  and  suddenly  Sallust  appeared  on  the  senatorial 
benches,  his  hair  dishevelled  —  breathless  —  heated  —  half- 
exhausted.  He  cast  his  eyes  hastily  around  the  ring. 


144  THE    NEW    CENTURY    SPEAKER. 

"  Remove  the  Athenian  !  "  he  cried  ;  "  haste —  he  is  inno- 
cent !  Arrest  Arbaces,  the  Egyptian  ;  he  is  the  murderer  of 
Apaecides  !  " 

"  Art  thou  mad,  O  Sallust  ? "  said  the  praetor,  rising  from 
his  seat.  "What  means  this  raving  ?  " 

"  Remove  the  Athenian  !  Quick  !  or  his  blood  be  on  your 
head.  Praetor,  delay,  and  you  answer  with  your  own  life  to 
the  emperor  !  I  bring  with  me  the  eyewitness  to  the  death 
of  the  priest  Apaecides.  Room  there !  stand  back  !  give  way ! 
People  of  Pompeii,  fix  every  eye  upon  Arbaces — there  he  sits  ! 
Room  there  for  the  priest  Calenus  !  "  "  The  priest  Calenus  ! 
Calenus  !  "  cried  the  mob.  "  Is  it  he  ?  No —  it  is  a  dead 
man."  "  It  is  the  priest  Calenus,"  said  the  praetor.  "  What 
hast  thou  to  say  ?  "  "  Arbaces  of  Egypt  is  the  murderer  of 
Apaecides,  the  priest  of  Isis ;  these  eyes  saw  him  deal  the 
blow.  Release  the  Athenian  ;  he  is  innocent  !  " 

"  It  is  for  this,  then,  that  the  lion  spared  him.  A  miracle  ! 
a  miracle  !  "  cried  Pansa. 

"  A  miracle  !  a  miracle  !  "  shouted  the  people.  "  Remove 
the  Athenian  !  Arbaces  to  the  lion  /" 

And  that  shout  echoed  from  hill  to  vale,  from  coast  to 
sea  :  "  Arbaces  to  the  lion  !  " 

"  Hear  me,"  answered  Arbaces,  rising  calmly,  but  with 
agitation  visible  in  his  face.  "  This  man  came  to  threaten 
that  he  would  make  against  me  the  charge  he  has  now 
made,  unless  I  would  purchase  his  silence  with  half  my  for- 
tune. Were  I  guilty,  why  was  the  witness  of  this  priest 
silent  at  the  trial  ?  Then  I  had  not  detained  or  concealed 
him.  Why  did  he  not  proclaim  my  guilt  when  I  proclaimed 
that  of  Glaucus  ? " 

"  What !  "  cried  Calenus,  turning  around  to  the  people, 
"  shall  Isis  be  thus  contemned  ?  Shall  the  blood  of  Apae- 
cides yet  cry  for  vengeance  ?  Shall  the  lion  be  cheated  of 
his  lawful  prey  ?  A  god  !  a  god  !  I  feel  the  god  rush  to 


VESUVIUS    AND    THE    EGYPTIAN.  145 

my  lips  !  To  the  lion  —  to  the  lion  with  Arbaccs  !  "  Sinking 
on  the  ground  in  strong  convulsions  —  the  foam  gathered  to 
his  mouth  —  he  was  as  a  man,  indeed,  whom  a  supernatural 
power  had  entered  !  The  people  saw  and  shuddered.  "  It 
is  a  god  that  inspires  the  holy  man !  To  the  lion  with  the 
Egyptian  /" 

With  that  cry  up  sprang  —  on  moved  —  thousands  upon 
thousands!  They  rushed  from  the  heights  —  they  poured 
down  in  the  direction  of  the  Egyptian.  The  power  of  the 
praetor  was  as  a  reed  beneath  the  whirlwind.  The  guards 
made  but  a  feeble  barrier  —  the  waves  of  the  human  sea 
halted  for  a  moment,  to  enable  Arbaces  to  count  the  exact 
moment  of  his  doom  !  In  despair,  and  in  a  terror  which 
beat  down  even  pride,  he  glanced  his  eyes  over  the  rolling 
and  rushing  crowd  —  when,  right  above  them,  through  the 
wide  chasm  which  had  been  left  in  the  velaria,  he  beheld  a 
strange  and  awful  apparition  —  he  beheld  —  and  his  craft 
restored  his  courage  ! 

"  Behold !  "  he  shouted  with  a  voice  of  thunder,  which 
stilled  the  roar  of  the  crowd ;  "  behold  how  the  gods  pro- 
tect the  guiltless  !  The  fires  of  the  avenging  Orcus  burst 
forth  against  the  false  witness  of  my  accusers  !  "  The  eyes 
of  the  crowd  followed  the  gesture  of  the  Egyptian,  and 
beheld,  with  ineffable  dismay,  a  vast  vapor  shooting  from 
the  summit  of  Vesuvius  in  the  form  of  a  gigantic  pine  tree,— 
the  trunk,  blackness ;  the  branches,  fire. 

Then  there  arose  on  high  the  universal  shrieks  of  women ; 
the  men  stared  at  each  other,  but  were  dumb.  At  that 
moment  they  felt  the  earth  shake  beneath  their  feet ;  the 
walls  of  the  theater  trembled  ;  and  beyond,  in  the  distance, 
they  heard  the  crash  of  falling  roofs.  An  instant  more  and 
the  mountain  cloud  seemed  to  roll  towards  them,  dark  and 
rapid,  like  a  torrent.  At  the  same  time  it  cast  forth  from 
its  bosom  a  shower  of  ashes  mixed  with  vast  fragments  of 


146          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

burning  stone  !  Over  the  crushing  vines,  over  the  desolate 
streets,  over  the  amphitheater  itself,  far  and  wide,  with  many 
a  mighty  splash  in  the  agitated  sea,  fell  that  awful  shower ! 
No  longer  thought  the  crowd  of  justice  or  of  Arbaces ; 
safety  for  themselves  was  their  sole  thought.  Each  turned 
to  fly  —  each  dashing,  pressing,  crushing  against  the  other. 
Trampling  recklessly  over  the  fallen,  —  amidst  groans  and 
oaths  and  prayers  and  sudden  shrieks,  —  the  enormous 
crowd  vomited  itself  forth  through  the  numerous  passages. 
Whither  should  they  fly  for  protection  from  the  terrors  of 
the  open  air  ? 

And  then  darker  and  larger  and  mightier  spread  the 
cloud  above  them.  It  was  a  sudden  and  more  ghastly  Night 
rushing  upon  the  realm  of  Noon  ! 


THE  VICTOR  OF  MARENGO. 

(Anonymous.) 

NAPOLEON  was  sitting  in  his  tent.  Before  him  lay  the 
map  of  Italy.  He  took  four  pins,  stuck  them  up,  measured, 
moved  the  pins,  and  measured  again.  "  Now,"  said  he, 
"  that  is  right.  I  will  capture  him  there."  "  Who,  sire  ?  " 
said  an  officer.  "  Melas,  the  old  fox  of  Austria.  He  will 
return  from  Genoa,  pass  through  Turin,  and  fall  back  on 
Alexandria.  I  will  cross  the  Po,  meet  him  on  the  plains  of 
La  Servia,  and  conquer  him  there."  And  the  finger  of  the 
child  of  destiny  pointed  to  Marengo.  But  God  thwarted 
Napoleon's  schemes,  and  the  well-planned  victory  of  Napo- 
leon became  a  terrible  defeat. 

Just  as  the  day  was  lost  Desaix  came  sweeping  across 
the  field  at  the  head  of  his  cavalry,  and  halted  near  the 


THE    VICTOR    OF    MARENGO.  147 

eminence  where  stood  Napoleon.  In  the  corps  was  a 
drummer  boy,  a  gamin,  whom  Desaix  had  picked  up  in  the 
streets  of  Paris,  and  who  had  followed  the  victorious  eagles 
of  France  in  the  campaigns  of  Egypt  and  Austria. 

As  the  column  halted  Napoleon  shouted  to  him  :  "  Beat 
a  retreat."  The  boy  did  not  stir.  "Gamin,  beat  a  retreat!  " 
The  boy  grasped  his  drumsticks,  stepped  forward,  and  said  : 
"  O  sire,  I  don't  know  how.  Desaix  never  taught  me  that. 
But  I  can  beat  a  charge.  Oh  !  I  can  beat  a  charge  that 
would  make  the  dead  fall  in  line.  I  beat  that  charge  at  the 
Pyramids  once,  and  I  beat  it  at  Mt.  Tabor,  and  I  beat  it 
again  at  the  Bridge  of  Lodi,  and,  oh  !  may  I  beat  it  here  ?  " 

Napoleon  turned  to  Desaix :  "  We  are  beaten  ;  what  shall 
we  do  ?  "  "  Do  ?  Beat  them !  There  is  time  to  win  a 
victory  yet.  Up !  gamin,  the  charge  !  Beat  the  old  charge 
of  Mt.  Tabor  and  Lodi  !  "  A  moment  later  the  corps,  fol- 
lowing the  sword  gleam,  of  Desaix,  and  keeping  step  to  the 
furious  roll  of  the  gamin's  drum,  swept  down  on  the  host  of 
Austria.  They  drove  the  first  line  back  on  the  second,  the 
second  back  on  the  third,  and  there  they  died.  Desaix  fell 
at  the  first  volley,  but  the  line  never  faltered.  As  the  smoke 
cleared  away,  the  gamin  was  seen  in  front  of  the  line,  still 
beating  the  furious  charge,  as  over  the  dead  and  wounded, 
over  the  breastworks  and  ditches,  over  the  cannon  and  rear- 
guard, he  led  the  way  to  victory. 

To-day  men  point  to  Marengo  with  wonderment.  They 
laud  the  power  and  foresight  that  so  skillfully  planned  the 
battle  ;  but  they  forget  that  Napoleon  failed,  and  that  a 
gamin  of  Paris  put  to  shame  the  child  of  destiny. 


148  THE    NEW    CENTURY    SPEAKER. 


THE   VOYAGE   OF  THE  "FRAM." 

ARTHUR  P.  HUNT. 

THE  summer  sun  is  beating  down  on  a  blue  Norwegian 
fiord.  Off  the  point  yonder,  where  the  tiny  house  nestles 
in  the  corner  of  the  meadow  land,  a  little  vessel  is  just 
weighing  anchor.  It  is  the  Fram  starting  on  its  bold  ven- 
ture to  wrest  its  secrets  from  the  silent  north. 

And  what  was  the  idea  of  Fridtjof  Nansen,  the  great  sea 
king  of  our  age,  as  his  good  ship  Fram  went  sailing  into 
unknown  seas  ?  It  was  that  the  ice,  which  comes  grinding 
southward  along  the  Greenland  coast,  is  owing  to  a  current 
across  the  Polar  Sea.  Previous  expeditions,  fighting  against 
this  current,  had  seen  their  ships  ground  to  pieces,  or  else 
hurried  southward  by  the  irresistible  force  of  the  drifting  ice. 
Why  not  change,  asked  Nansen,  from  the  traditional  course 
to  one  in  which  the  current  would  carry  the  ship  northward 
across  the  pole?  Simple  as  was  the  idea,  the  scientific  world 
would  have  none  of  it.  "  Arctic  exploration,"  said  one,  "  is 
sufficiently  credited  with  rashness  and  danger  in  its  legiti- 
mate and  sanctioned  methods  without  bearing  the  burden  of 
Dr.  Nansen's  illogical  scheme  of  self-destruction."  And  what 
were  these  "  legitimate  and  sanctioned  methods  "  ?  They 
were  :  hug  the  shore  ;  avoid  the  ice ;  leave  open  a  line  of 
retreat.  But  Nansen  said:  "  Strike  out  into  the  open  sea; 
freeze  the  ship  into  the  ice  ;  leave  open  no  line  of  retreat." 

Three  weary  years  have  passed.  In  the  dim  fantastic 
light  of  the  aurora,  a  dull  gray  wilderness  of  ice  with  its 
pallid  glitter  fades  away  into  the  gloom  of  the  horizon. 
There  against  the  snow  and  sky  rises  a  strange  form  in 
silhouette,  —  a  black  hull  which  the  ice  seems  slowly  claim- 
ing. As  if  in  exultation  at  the  thought,  the  aurora  flashes 
forth  in  startling  splendor.  Red  and  yellow,  the  streamers, 


THE  VOYAGE  OF  THE  FRAM.  149 

serpent-like,  glide  into  the  sky.  Then  with  lightning  change 
of  form  and  color,  bright  green  and  ruby  red,  they  twist  and 
writhe  amid  whole  sheaves  of  golden  flame.  And  now  far 
away  on  the  horizon's  edge  begins  the  dull  boom  of  the 
packing  ice.  Again  it  rumbles,  nearer  now ;  then  double 
peals  in  quick  succession,  and  across  the  waste  great  blocks 
of  ice  are  tossed  along  a  gathering  ridge.  Ten,  twelve, 
fifteen  feet  thick,  the  massive  floes  are  broken,  and  flung 
back  grinding  and  crashing.  Straight  toward  the  ship,  as  if 
bent  on  destruction,  it  speeds  along  ;  but  when  again  the 
uproar  dies  away  in  the  distance  the  little  Fram  looms 
there  still,  half  buried,  but  unharmed. 

Dreary  enough  that  black  hull  looks  ;  but  within  it,  brave 
and  hopeful  hearts  are  beating.  Not  a  man  has  been  lost, 
not  a  man  injured  or  even  ill.  And  slowly,  slowly,  the 
Fram  is  drifting  across  the  frozen  sea. 

"  Madness,"  do  you  say?  Well,  madness,  if  you  will,  but 
there  was  tremendous  method  in  it.  "Useless  ?  "  No,  surely 
not  useless  ;  for  science  has  gained  by  that  painstaking  series 
of  observations,  society  has  gained  by  that  pluck  which  adds 
another  name  to  her  honor  roll  of  heroes. 

But  is  there  not  something  of  a  spiritual  portent,  too,  in 
Nansen's  venture  ?  The  shores  of  every  age  are  strewn  with 
wreckage.  Old  faiths  have  crumbled,  and  the  common 
doubt  and  hesitation  make  even  the  bravest  hearts  quail. 
But  underneath  the  surface  the  eye  of  the  seer  beholds  a 
current  strong  and  free.  To  oppose  it  is  destruction  ;  to 
utilize  its  forces  with  a  firm  hope  in  the  final  issue  is  to  carry 
forward  humanity's  standard  and  plant  it  beyond  the  farthest 
boundary  lines  of  former  ages.  And,  though  the  pole  be 
not  reached,  this  is  success. 


I5O  THE    NEW    CENTURY    SPEAKER. 

WAR  AND  PEACE. 

F.  W.  ROBERTSON. 

DOUBTLESS  the  law  of  honor  is  only  half  Christian.  Yet 
poetic  imagination  does  this:  it  proclaims  the  invisible  truth 
above  the  visible  comfort.  It  does  not  say  it  will  be  better 
for  you  in  the  end  if  you  do  honorably.  It  says  you  must 
do  honorably,  though  it  be  not  better  for  you  to  do  it,  but 
worse  and  deathful.  Honor  says  :  Perhaps  you  will  lose  — 
all  —  life.  Lose,  then,  like  a  man;  for  there  is  something 
higher  than  life,  dearer  than  even  your  eternal  gain. 

So  it  is  that  through  poetic  imagination  war  becomes 
chivalry.  A  truly  great  man, — the  American  Channing, — 
has  said  that  if  armies  were  dressed  in  a  hangman's  or  a 
butcher's  garb,  the  false  glare  of  military  enthusiasm  would 
be  seen  in  its  true  aspect  as  butchery.  It  is  wonderful  how 
the  generous  enthusiasm  of  Dr.  Channing  has  led  him  into 
such  a  sophism.  Take  away  honor  and  imagination  and 
poetry  from  war,  and  it  becomes  carnage.  Doubtless.  And 
take  away  public  spirit  and  invisible  principles  from  resist- 
ance to  a  tax,  and  Hampden  becomes  a  noisy  demagogue. 
Take  away  the  grandeur  of  his  cause,  and  Washington  is  a 
rebel,  instead  of  the  purest  of  patriots. 

But  the  truth  is  here,  as  elsewhere;  poetic  imagination  has 
reached  the  truth,  while  science  and  common  sense  have 
missed  it.  It  has  distinguished  war  from  mere  bloodshed. 
Carnage  is  terrible.  The  conversion  of  producers  into 
destroyers  is  a  calamity.  Death,  and  insults  to  woman  worse 
than  death,  human  features  obliterated  beneath  the  hoof  of 
the  war  horse,  and  reeking  hospitals  and  ruined  commerce 
and  violated  homes,  —  they  are  all  awful.  But  there  is 
something  worse  than  death.  Cowardice  is  worse.  And  the 
decay  of  enthusiasm  and  manliness  is  worse.  And  it  is  worse 


WAR    AND    PEACE.  151 

than  death,  ay,  worse  than  a  hundred  thousand  deaths, 
when  a  people  has  gravitated  down  into  the  creed  that  the 
"wealth  of  nations"  consists,  not  in  generous  hearts, — "fire 
in  each  breast,  and  freedom  on  each  brow,"  -  —  not  in  men, 
but  in  silk  and  cotton  and  something  that  they  call  "  capital." 
Peace  is  blessed,  —  peace  arising  out  of  charity.  But  peace 
springing  out  of  the  calculations  of  selfishness  is  not  blessed. 
If  the  price  to  be  paid  for  peace  is  this,  that  wealth  accumu- 
late and  men  decay,  better  far  that  every  street  in  every  town 
of  our  noble  country  should  run  blood  ! 

Let  me  illustrate  my  meaning  by  an  anecdote  from  Sir 
Charles  Napier's  campaign  against  the  robber  tribes  of  upper 
Scinde.  A  detachment  of  troops  was  marching  along  a 
valley,  the  cliffs  overhanging  which  were  crested  by  the 
enemy.  A  sergeant,  with  twelve  men,  chanced  to  become 
separated  from  the  rest  by  taking  the  wrong  side  of  a  ravine, 
which  they  expected  soon  to  terminate,  but  which  suddenly 
deepened  into  an  impassable  chasm.  The  officer  in  command 
signaled  to  the  party  an  order  to  return.  They  mistook  the 
signal  for  a  command  to  charge;  the  brave  fellows  answered 
with  a  cheer,  and  charged.  At  the  summit  of  the  steep 
mountain  was  a  triangular  platform,  defended  by  a  breast- 
work, behind  which  were  seventy  of  the  foe.  On  they  went, 
charging  up  one  of  those  fearful  paths,  eleven  against  seventy. 
The  contest  could  not  long  be  doubtful  with  such  odds.  One 
after  another  they  fell,  —  six  upon  the  spot,  the  remainder 
hurled  backwards,  — but  not  until  they  had  slain  nearly  twice 
their  own  number. 

There  is  a  custom,  we  are  told,  amongst  the  hillsmen  that 
when  a  great  chieftain  of  theirs  falls  in  battle  his  wrist  is 
bound  with  a  thread,  either  of  red  or  green,  the  red  denoting 
the  highest  rank.  According  to  custom,  they  stripped  the 
dead  and  threw  their  bodies  over  the  precipice.  When  their 
comrades  returned  they  found  their  bodies  stark  and  gashed; 


152          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

but  around  both  wrists  of  every  British  hero  was  twined  the 
red  thread  ! 

And  so,  if  a  foreign  foot  be  planted  on  our  sacred  soil  — 
thanks  to  gentlemen  who  have  taught  us  the  sublime  mys- 
teries of  "  capital  "  in  lieu  of  the  old  English  superstitions  of 
honor  and  religion  —  they  may  yet  chance  to  learn  that 
British  chivalry  did  not  breathe  her  last  at  Moodkee,  or 
Sobraon,  or  Goojerat,  or  Hyderbad.  They  may  yet  discover 
that  amongst  the  artisans  and  peasants  and  workingmen  of 
England,  there  are  a  thousand  thousand  worthy  to  be  brothers 
of  those  heroic  eleven  who  sleep  beneath  the  rocks  of 
Trukkee  with  the  red  thread  of  honor  round  their  wrists. 


WATERLOO. 

J.  T.  HEADLEY. 

THE  whole  continental  struggle  exhibits  no  sublimer 
spectacle  than  this  last  effort  of  Napoleon  to  save  his  sink- 
ing empire.  The  greatest  military  energy  and  skill  the 
world  possessed  had  been  tasked  to  the  utmost  during  the 
day.  Thrones  were  tottering  on  the  turbulent  field,  and 
the  shadows  of  fugitive  kings  flitted  through  the  smoke  of 
battle.  Bonaparte's  star  trembled  in  the  zenith,  now 
blazing  out  in  its  ancient  splendor,  now  suddenly  paling 
before  his  anxious  eye.  At  last  he  staked  his  empire  on 
one  bold  throw. 

Nothing  could  be  more  imposing  than  the  movement  of 
the  Old  Guard  to  the  assault.  It  had  never  recoiled  before 
a  human  foe,  and  the  allied  forces  beheld  with  awe  its  firm 
and  steady  advance  to  the  final  charge.  For  a  moment  the 
batteries  stopped  playing  and  the  firing  ceased  along  the 


WATERLOO.  153 

British  lines,  as,  without  the  beating  of  a  drum  or  a  bugle 
note  to  cheer  their  steady  courage,  they  moved  in  dead 
silence  over  the  field.  The  next  moment  the  artillery 
opened,  and  the  head  of  that  gallant  column  seemed  to  sink 
into  the  earth.  Rank  after  rank  went  down;  yet  they  neither 
stopped  nor  faltered.  Dissolving  squadrons  and  whole  bat- 
talions disappearing  one  after  another  in  the  destructive  fire 
affected  not  their  steady  courage.  In  vain  did  the  artillery 
hurl  its  storm  of  fire  and  lead  into  that  living  mass.  Up  to 
the  very  muzzles  they  pressed,  and,  driving  the  artillerymen 
from  their  pieces,  pushed  on  through  the  English  lines. 

But  just  as  the  victory  seemed  won,  a  file  of  soldiers  who 
had  lain  flat  on  the  ground  behind  a  low  ridge  of  earth  sud- 
denly rose  and  poured  a  volley  in  their  very  faces.  Another 
and  another  followed,  till  one  broad  sheet  of  flame  rolled  on 
their  bosoms,  and  in  such  a  fierce  and  unexpected  flow  that 
they  staggered  back  before  it.  Before  the  guard  had  time 
to  rally  again  and  advance,  a  heavy  column  of  infantry  fell 
on  its  left  flank  in  close  and  deadly  volleys,  causing  it  in  its 
unsettled  state  to  swerve  to  the  right.  At  that  instant  a 
whole  brigade  of  cavalry  thundered  on  the  right  flank,  and 
penetrated  where  cavalry  had  never  gone  before.  It  was 
then  that  the  army,  seized  with  despair,  shrieked  out :  "  The 
Guard  recoils  !  the  Guard  recoils  !  "  and  turned  and  fled  in 
wild  dismay. 

Still  those  veterans  refused  to  fly ;  rallying  from  their 
disorder,  they  formed  into  two  immense  squares  of  eight 
battalions  and  turned  fiercely  on  the  enemy,  and  nobly 
strove  to  stem  the  reversed  tide  of  battle.  Michel,  at  the 
head  of  those  brave  battalions,  fought  like  a  lion.  To  every 
command  of  the  enemy  to  surrender  he  replied:  "The 
Guard  dies;  it  never  surrenders,"  and,  with  his  last  breath 
bequeathing  this  glorious  motto  to  the  Guard,  he  fell  a 
witness  to  its  truth. 


154          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

Death  traversed  those  eight  battalions  with  such  a  rapid 
footstep  that  but  a  single  battalion,  the  debris  of  the 
"  column  of  granite "  at  Marengo,  was  left.  Into  this 
Napoleon  flung  himself.  Cambronne,  its  brave  commander, 
saw  with  terror  the  emperor  in  its  frail  keeping.  Approach- 
ing the  emperor,  he  cried  out  :  "  Retire !  do  you  not 
see  that  death  has  no  need  of  you  ? "  and,  closing  mourn- 
fully yet  sternly  round  their  expiring  eagles,  those  brave 
hearts  bade  Napoleon  an  eternal  adieu,  and,  flinging  them- 
selves on  the  enemy,  were  soon  piled  with  the  dead  at  their 
feet. 


WOLFE  AT  QUEBEC. 

FRANK  D.  BUDLONG. 

ON  a  bright  June  morning,  1759,  Wolfe,  sailing  proudly 
up  the  St.  Lawrence  River,  landed  at  Quebec.  Continual 
victory  had  thus  far  rested  on  the  banners  of  the  English. 
Louisburg  had  been  taken  by  storm,  Ticonderoga  and  Crown 
Point  evacuated,  Fort  Niagara  surrendered,  and  now  the  eager 
eyes  of  the  British  were  turned  toward  Wolfe  and  Quebec. 

But  Wolfe  had  no  sluggard  with  whom  to  deal.  Quebec, 
almost  impregnable  from  its  position  on  the  bluff,  had  been 
rendered  doubly  secure  by  the  wary  Montcalm.  For  a 
dozen  miles  above  the  city  every  landing-place  was  in- 
trenched and  protected,  while  for  a  dozen  miles  below  it  the 
shore  was  guarded,  to  where  the  impetuous  Montmorency, 
leaping  and  whirling  down  the  steps  of  its  rocky  bed,  rushes 
headlong  over  the  ledge  and  pours  its  fiery  cataract  into  the 
chasm.  But  the  young  and  heroic  Wolfe  was  not  to  be 
checked  by  an  appearance  of  strength.  Mortars  were  sta- 
tioned, hot  shot  and  shell  thrown  into  the  city,  and  a  rally 


WOLFE    AT    QUEBEC.  155 

was  made  to  force  a  landing  ;  but  nowhere  was  a  point  left 
unguarded.  Again  and  again  the  brave  Grenadiers  rush 
forward,  only  to  be  met  with  a  withering  fire  which  mows 
them  down  like  grass.  Flesh  and  blood  cannot  stand  it, 
and  reluctantly  Wolfe  orders  a  retreat. 

Day  after  day  the  general  studied  the  position  of  the 
enemy  ;  seemingly  every  avenue  of  approach  was  recon- 
noitered.  So  the  days  crept  into  weeks,  the  weeks  into 
months,  and  still  the  citadel  of  Quebec  stood  there  on  the 
cliff,  —  bold,  silent,  impregnable, —  the  Gibraltar  of  America; 
and  above  floated  the  banner  of  the  Bourbons. 

Worn  down  by  care  and  constant  watching,  fighting  fire 
rafts  by  night  and  studying  the  shore  by  day,  the  feeble 
frame  of  Wolfe  sunk  under  the  energy  of  his  resistless  spirit. 
But  his  purpose  was  unchanged.  He  knew  that  far  across 
the  water  Pitt  was  watching  him  with  anxious  eyes.  To  his 
comrades  in  arms,  who  loved  their  leader  and  were  ready  to 
follow  him  to  death,  he  said  :  "  While  a  man  is  able  to  do 
his  duty  and  can  stand  and  hold  arms,  it  is  infamous  to 
retire."  At  length  perseverance  is  crowned  with  success. 
A  narrow  bridle  path  is  discovered  winding  from  a  little 
cove  to  the  plateau  above ;  and  up  this  path,  under  cover  of 
the  night,  Wolfe  determined  to  lead  his  army,  offer  battle  to 
Montcalm,  or  carry  the  town  by  assault. 

On  the  evening  of  September  12  the  final  preparations 
were  made.  What  a  scene  spread  out  before  the  English 
general  on  the  clear,  starlight  evening,  —  the  spacious  har- 
bor, so  far  from  the  sea,  his  own  fleet  and  army  gathering 
under  way,  and  in  the  distance  the  gray  walls  and  towering 
cliffs  of  Quebec !  Impressed  by  the  sight  as  he  passed  along 
from  ship  to  ship,  the  general  spoke  of  the  poet  Gray  and 
his  "  Elegy  in  a  Country  Churchyard."  "  Ah,  yes,"  he  said, 
"  I  would  rather  be  the  author  of  that  poem  than  to  take 
Quebec."  Then  the  oars  struck  the  river.  As  it  rippled  in 


156          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

the  silence  of  the  night,  with  almost  prophetic  tenderness  he 
repeated  : 

The  boast  of  heraldry,  the  pomp  of  power, 
And  all  that  beauty,  all  that  wealth  e'er  gave 

Await  alike  th'  inevitable  hour  :  — 

The  paths  of  glory  lead  but  to  the  grave. 

At  one  o'clock  the  little  band  of  five  thousand  men  glide 
down  the  river,  reach  the  landing-place,  leap  ashore,  climb 
foot  by  foot  up  the  precipitous  height,  and  daylight  finds 
Wolfe  and  his  invincible  battalions  on  the  plains  of  Abraham 

-"the  battlefield  of  empires."  Montcalm  was  astounded. 
1  'T  is  impossible  !  "  he  exclaimed.  But  there  in  the  dis- 
tance were  the  redcoats  ;  there  the  gleaming  bayonets  to 
assure  him  of  the  fact. 

The  bugle  sounds  to  arms,  and  soon  the  fast-falling  death 
shot,  the  boom  of  guns,  and  the  roar  of  battle  tell  of 
another  "  harvest  of  death,"  another  day  to  be  lost  or  won. 
Twice  Montcalm  leads  his  merry  Frenchmen  in  the  charge, 
and  twice  the  bleeding  line  falls  back  shattered  and  broken. 
Again  and  again  they  rush  forward  reenforced  and  more 
determined  than  ever.  The  English  line  wavers,  falters; 
will  it  break  and  the  day  be  lost  for  England?  No,  no. 
Wolfe  is  here,  and  his  rallying  cry  is  heard  high  above  the 
din  of  battle.  With  a  cheer  the  soldiers  rush  forward, 
and,  catching  the  inspiration  of  his  cry,  on  they  go,  over  the 
uneven  ground,  over  the  bogs  and  brushwood,  over  the  dead 
and  dying,  pursuing  the  enemy  to  the  very  gates  of  the  city. 

But  their  leader  ?  Ah  !  The  warrior  had  verified  the 
words  of  the  poet.  For  as  the  shouts  of  the  victorious  army 
came  ringing  over  the  plains  of  Abraham  the  spirit  of  their 
valorous  leader,  who  had  crowded  into  a  few  hours  actions 
that  would  lend  luster  to  length  of  days,  went  out  in  a  blaze 
of  glory. 


PART   II. 


HENRY   CABOT    LODGE. 


'59 


"  OLD  IRONSIDES." 


A  TRIBUTE  TO  MASSACHUSETTS. 


CUBA  AND  ARMENIA. 


THE  VENEZUELA  QUESTION. 


THE  TRADITIONS  OF  MASSACHUSETTS. 


THE  BLUE  AND  THE  GRAY. 


THE  GREAT  PERIL  OF  UNRESTRICTED  IMMIGRATION. 


THE  PURITAN  OF  ESSEX  COUNTY. 


AMERICANISM. 


160 


"OLD    IRONSIDES."  l6l 

"OLD  IRONSIDES." 

HENRY  CABOT  LODGE. 

THE  United  States  frigate  Constitution  has  come  back  to 
Boston  and  to  Massachusetts.  She  floats  again  upon  the 
waters  into  which  she  rushed  as  she  left  the  builder's  ways 
a  hundred  years  ago.  Curious  inquirers  have  been  at  pains 
to  tell  us  that  of  the  ship  launched  in  1797  scarcely  anything 
remains  ;  that  in  her  long  career  she  has  been  made  over 
from  truck  to  keel.  Whether  the  statement  is  true  or  false 
matters  not.  It  is  not  a  given  mass  of  wood  and  iron  which 
touches  our  hearts  and  stirs  our  pride.  It  is  the  old  ship 
herself,  because  she  is  the  visible  symbol  of  a  great  past 
charged  with  noble  memories  and  representing  sentiments, 
aspirations,  and  beliefs  far  more  lasting  than 

Brass  eternal,  slave  to  mortal  rage. 

Every  one  is  familiar  with  Turner's  famous  picture  of  "The 
Fighting  Temeraire  Towed  to  Her  Last  Berth."  The  splen- 
dor of  the  execution  arrests  the  eye  at  once.  The  crowded 
river,  the  disturbed  water,  the  smoky  mist,  the  marvelous 
effects  of  clouds  and  color,  of  light  and  shade,  —  all  fill  the 
gazer  with  wonder  and  delight.  But  there  is  much  more 
than  this.  As  we  look  at  the  old  brown  hulk  dragged  slowly 
up  the  murky  stream,  we  see  that  the  canvas  before  us  is 
not  only  a  picture,  but  a  poem  full  of  pathos  and  of  mem- 
ories. The  old  ship's  course  is  run.  She  will  never  face 
the  seas  nor  front  the  foe  again.  The  end  of  a  great  career, 
always  pathetic  to  the  finite  mind,  is  here  very  present 
to  us. 

But  that  is  not  all  which  genius  has  put  upon  the  canvas. 
Turner  was  painting  more  than  water,  sky,  and  ship.  He 
has  touched  the  scene  with  the  enchanter's  wand,  and  we 


1 62          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

behold,  as  in  the  magic  mirror,  the  story  of  England's  navy. 
The  long  roll  of  her  sea  fights  stretches  out  before  us.  All 
the  great  figures  are  there,  from  Grenville  sinking  on  the 
Revenge,  ringed  round  by  foes,  and  Blake  burning  the  Span- 
ish ships  at  Cadiz  and  sweeping  through  the  Mediterranean, 
to  Nelson  dying  victorious  at  Trafalgar. 

Above  all,  the  "  Fighting  Temeraire  "  speaks  to  us  of  that 
supreme  period  of  England's  naval  history  when  she  had 
crushed  France  and  Spain  and  ruled  the  ocean  unopposed, 
the  great  sea  power  of  the  world.  Against  that  mighty 
power  in  the  full  flush  of  victory  and  dominion  we  took  up 
arms,  and  England  suddenly  discovered  that,  ship  for  ship 
and  man  for  man,  she  had  more  than  met  her  match. 

It  was  by  no  fault  of  their  own  that  the  United  States 
found  themselves  pitted  in  a  terribly  unequal  struggle  against 
this  great  antagonist.  From  the  renewal  of  the  Napoleonic 
wars  after  the  rupture  of  the  peace  of  Amiens,  there  was  no 
insult,  no  humiliation,  no  outrage  that  the  two  great  com- 
batants, England  and  France,  failed  to  inflict  on  the  United 
States. 

If  we  were  to  have  peace  or  honor  or  national  existence, 
we  had  to  fight.  Thus  war  began.  We  were  utterly  unpre- 
pared on  land.  At  sea  the  case  was  very  different.  The 
career  of  the  Constitution  illustrates  that  of  the  American 
navy  throughout  the  war.  Commanded  by  Captain  Isaac 
Hull,  she  left  the  Chesapeake  on  the  i2th  of  July,  1812.  On 
the  i yth  she  almost  ran  into  a  British  squadron,  consisting 
of  a  ship  of  the  line  of  sixty-four  guns  and  four  frigates. 
They  gave  chase.  For  three  days,  through  perilous  calms 
when  he  towed  and  warped  his  ship  along,  through  light  and 
baffling  breezes,  through  squalls  and  darkness,  Hull  worked 
his  way  until  the  last  enemy  dropped  below  the  horizon. 
He  outmaneuvered  and  outsailed  his  foe,  and  escaped  from  an 
overwhelming  force  flying  the  flag  of  the  mistress  of  the  seas. 


"OLD    IRONSIDES."  163 

On  July  26  the  Constitution  reached  Boston,  and  on  Aug- 
ust 2  set  sail  again  and  stood  to  the  eastward.  On  the  iQth 
she  sighted  the  Guerriere,  one  of  the  ships  that  had  pursued 
her,  and  bore  down  at  once.  There  was  an  hour  of  long- 
range  firing,  and  then  the  Constitution  closed  and  they  ex- 
changed broadsides  within  pistol  shot.  The  sea  was  rough, 
but  the  American  aim  was  deadly.  The  Constitution  was  but 
little  damaged,  while  the  Guerriere' s  mizzenmast  went  by  the 
board.  Then  Hull  luffed  under  his  enemy's  bows  and  raked 
her,  then  wore  and  raked  again.  So  near  were  the  two  ships 
now  that  they  became  entangled. 

Finally,  the  sea  forced  the  ships  apart  after  this  brief 
hand-to-hand  conflict,  and  as  they  separated  the  foremast 
and  mainmast  of 'the  Guerriere  went  by  the  board,  and  she 
rolled,  a  helpless  hulk,  upon  the  waves.  Hull  drew  off, 
repaired  damages,  and  bore  down  again,  when  the  Guerriere 
struck  her  flag.  The  next  day  Hull  took  off  all  the  British 
crew,  and  the  Guerriere,  shot  to  pieces  and  a  mere  wreck, 
was  set  on  fire  and  blown  up.  We  had  a  better  ship,  more 
men,  and  threw  a  greater  weight  of  metal.  But  we  also 
fought  our  ship  better  and  were  better  gunners  ;  for,  while 
the  Constitution  lost  fourteen,  killed  and  wounded,  the  Guer- 
riere lost  seventy-nine  and  was  herself  utterly  destroyed. 

Hull  returned  in  triumph  to  Boston,  and  the  news  of  his 
victory  filled  the  country  with  pride  and  England  with  alarm. 
At  that  period  England  naturally  considered  herself  invin- 
cible. The  results  hitherto  had  justified  their  confidence, 
but  now  sprang  up  a  people  who  had  faster  ships,  sailed 
better,  and  shot  straighter  than  they,  and  who  were  also 
quite  as  ready  as  they  to  come  to  close  quarters  by  boarding. 
One  frigate  was  nothing,  but  the  facts  flashed  out  in  this 
first  fight  of  the  Constitution  were  impressive  indeed. 

The  men  who  fell  upon  the  decks  of  the  Constitution  or 
who  died  at  Gettysburg  and  Shiloh  represent  the  highest 


164         THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

and  noblest  spirit  of  which  a  race  is  capable.  Without  that 
spirit  of  patriotism,  courage,  and  self-sacrifice  no  nation  can 
long  exist,  and  the  greatest  material  success  in  the  hands  of 
the  cringing  and  timid  will  quickly  turn  to  dust  and  ashes. 
The  Constitution,  as  she  lies  in  our  harbor  to-day,  is  an 
embodiment  and  memorial  of  that  lofty  patriotism. 

Built,  launched,  and  saved  here  in  Boston,  is  it  any  won- 
der that  we  have  a  peculiar  attachment  to  the  old  frigate 
and  should  feel  that  this  ought  to  be  her  home  and  resting- 
place  ?  And  yet  we  know  that  she  is  not  our  ship.  She  did 
not  win  her  victories  for  Massachusetts,  but  for  the  United 
States.  She  was  the  nation's  ship,  and  fought  the  nation's 
battle  beneath  the  nation's  flag. 


A  TRIBUTE  TO  MASSACHUSETTS. 

HENRY  CABOT  LODGE. 

To  all  who  dwell  within  the  confines  of  Massachusetts 
the  old  state  is  very  dear.  She  has  a  right  to  our  love  and 
pride.  "  Behold  her  and  judge  for  yourselves."  Here  she 
is,  a  queen  among  commonwealths,  enthroned  amidst  her 
hills  and  streams,  with  the  ocean  at  her  feet.  Trade  is  in 
her  marts  and  prayer  within  her  temples.  Her  cities  stir 
with  busy  life.  Her  wealth  grows  beyond  the  dreams  of 
avarice.  Her  rivers  turn  the  wheels  of  industry,  and  the 
smoke  of  countless  chimneys  tells  the  story  of  the  inventor's 
genius  and  the  workman's  skill. 

But  the  material  side  is  the  least  of  it.  We  rejoice 
mightily  in  her  prosperity,  but  our  love  and  pride  are 
touched  by  nobler  themes.  We  love  the  old  state.  The 
sand  hills  of  the  Cape,  with  gulls  wheeling  over  the  waste  of 


A    TRIBUTE    TO    MASSACHUSETTS.  165 

waters,  the  gray  ledges  and  green  pastures  of  Essex,  with 
the  seas  surging  forever  on  her  rocks,  the  broad  and  fruitful 
valleys  of  the  Connecticut,  the  dark  hills  and  murmuring 
streams  of  Berkshire  have  to  us  a  tender  charm  no  other 
land  can  give.'  They  breathe  to  us  the  soft  message  that 
tells  of  home  and  country. 

Still,  it  is  something  more  than  the  look  of  hill  and  dale, 
something  deeper  than  habit,  which  stirs  our  hearts  when  we 
think  of  Massachusetts.  Behind  the  outward  form  of  things 
lies  that  which  passeth  show.  It  is  in  the  history  of  Massa- 
chusetts, in  the  lives  of  her  great  men,  in  the  sacrifices,  in 
the  deeds,  and  in  the  character  of  her  people  that  we  find 
the  true  secret  of  our  love  and  pride.  We  may  not  explain 
it  even  to  ourselves,  but  it  is  there  in  the  good  old  name, 
and  flushes  into  life  at  the  sight  of  the  white  flag.  Massa- 
chusetts !  Utter  but  the  word,  and  what  memories  throng 
upon  her  children  ! 

Here  came  the  stern,  God-fearing  men  to  find  a  home  and 
found  a  state.  Here,  almost  where  we  stand,  on  the  edge 
of  the  wilderness,  was  placed  the  first  public  school.  Yon- 
der, across  the  river,  where  the  track  of  the  savage  still 
lingered  and  the  howl  of  the  wolf  was  still  heard,  was 
planted  the  first  college.  Here,  through  years  of  peril  and 
privation,  with  much  error  and  failure,  but  ever  striving  and 
marching  onward,  the  Puritans  built  their  state. 

It  was  this  old  town  that  first  resisted  England  and  bared 
its  breast  to  receive  the  hostile  spears.  In  the  fields  of 
Middlesex  the  first  blood  was  shed  in  the  American  Revo- 
lution. On  the  slopes  of  Bunker  Hill  the  British  troops 
first  recoiled  under  American  fire.  Massachusetts  was  the 
first  great  commonwealth  to  resist  the  advance  of  slavery, 
and  in  the  mighty  war  for  the  Union  she  had  again  the  sad 
honor  to  lay  the  first  blood  offering  on  the  altar  of  the 
nation. 


1 66          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

This  is  the  state  that  Winthrop  founded.  Warren  died 
for  her  liberties,  and  Webster  defended  her  good  name. 
Sumner  bore  stripes  in  behalf  of  her  beliefs,  and  her  sons 
gave  their  lives  on  every  battlefield  for  the  one  flag  she  held 
more  sacred  than  her  own.  She  has  fought  for  liberty.  She 
has  done  justice  between  man  and  man.  She  has  sought  to 
protect  the  weak,  to  save  the  erring,  to  raise  the  unfortunate. 
She  has  been  the  fruitful  mother  of  ideas  as  of  men.  Her 
thought  has  followed  the  sun  and  been  felt  throughout  the 
length  of  the  land. 

May  we  not  say,  as  Charles  Fox  said  of  Switzerland  : 
"  Every  man  should  desire  once  in  his  life  to  make  a  pil- 
grimage to  Massachusetts,  the  land  of  liberty  and  peace  "  ? 
She  has  kept  her  shield  unspotted  and  her  honor  pure.  To 
us,  her  loving  children,  she  is  a  great  heritage  and  a  great 
trust. 


CUBA  AND  ARMENIA. 

HENRY  CABOT  LODGE. 

AMONG  the  people  who  first  settled  in  the  United  States, 
whose  blood  flows  in  American  veins  to-day,  were  to  be 
found  Hollanders  who,  weak  in  numbers  but  strong  of  heart, 
there  among  their  dikes  on  the  borders  of  the  North  Sea, 
first  made  head  against  the  oppression  of  the  Spanish 
Empire.  Mr.  President,  in  your  own  state  of  Delaware,  the 
first  settlers  were  the  men  who  had  followed  the  "  Lion  of 
the  North,"  the  Protestant  champion,  when  he  stayed  the 
oncoming  of  Spain  and  Austria  on  the  plains  of  Germany. 

In  my  own  portion  of  the  country  are  the  people  who 
draw  their  blood  from  those  who  followed  Blake  into  the 
Mediterranean,  from  the  Ironsides  of  Cromwell,  of  whom  it 


CUBA    AND    ARMENIA.  l6/ 

has  been  written  that  even  the  "  banished  cavaliers  felt  an 
emotion  of  pride  when  they  beheld  a  brigade  of  their  own 
countrymen,  outnumbered  by  foes  and  abandoned  by  friends, 
drive  before  them  in  headlong  rout  the  finest  infantry  of 
Spain,  and  force  a  passage  through  a  counterscarp  which 
had  been  pronounced  impregnable  by  the  greatest  of  the 
marshals  of  France." 

Such  are  the  men,  such  are  the  races  which  have  done 
most  to  settle  and  build  up  the  United  States.  It  is  from 
those  people  that  we  derive  all  that  we  hold  dear  and  all  in 
which  we  most  believe,  and  they  fought  their  way  to  liberty 
against  the  power  and  bigotry  of  Spain,  which  was  then  the 
great  force  of  the  European  world. 

Now  turn  to  the  Cubans  battling  for  their  liberties.  I 
think,  Mr.  President,  that  even  the  most  bitter  opponent  of 
the  Spanish- Americans  would  admit  that  free  Cuba,  under 
the  constitution  which  now  exists,  would  be  an  immense 
advance  in  civilization,  in  all  that  makes  for  the  progress  of 
humanity,  over  the  government  which  Spain  has  given  to 
that  island.  The  Cubans  offer  a  free  press  and  a  free 
speech.  Both  are  suppressed  there  by  Spain.  The  Cubans 
by  their  constitution  guarantee  a  free  church  in  a  free  state. 
They  guarantee  liberty  of  conscience.  Those  are  things  in 
which  Americans  believe ;  and  the  Cubans,  whatever  their 
faults  or  deficiencies  may  be,  stand  also  for  those  principles. 

Cuba  is  but  a  quarter  smaller  than  the  island  of  Java,  and 
the  island  of  Java  sustains  twenty-three  million  people.  Cuba 
has  a  population  of  a  million  and  a  half,  and  she  is  one  of 
the  richest  spots  on  the  face  of  the  earth.  She  has  not 
grown  or  prospered,  because  the  heavy  hand  of  Spain  has 
been  upon  her. 

Spain  may  ruin  the  island.  She  can  never  hold  it  or 
govern  it  again.  Cuba  now  is  not  fighting  merely  for  inde- 
pendence. Those  men  are  fighting,  every  one  of  them,  with 


1 68          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

a  price  on  their  heads  and  a  rope  around  their  necks.  They 
have  shown  that  they  could  fight  well.  They  are  now  fight- 
ing the  battle  of  despair.  That  is  the  condition  to-day  in 
that  island.  And  here  we  stand  motionless,  a  great  and 
powerful  country,  not  six  hours  away  from  these  scenes  of 
useless  bloodshed  and  destruction. 

We  have  had  a  good  deal  to  say  about  Armenia.  But  do 
we  not  know  very  well  that  Armenia  is  far  beyond  our 
sphere  of  influence  or  of  action  ?  Do  we  not  know  that, 
as  a  matter  of  traditional  policy  and  as  a  physical  matter  of 
distance,  we  cannot  interfere  in  the  affairs  of  Turkey  or  stay 
the  massacre  of  her  subjects  ?  The  words  we  utter  on 
Armenia  are  mere  words,  words  of  sympathy,  and  that  is  all. 
We  cannot  support  them  by  deeds. 

The  slaughter  in  Armenia  has  been  going  on  now  for 
many  months,  and  has  involved  massacres  which  cannot  be 
equaled  in  extent  unless  you  go  back  over  three  hundred 
years  to  the  period  of  the  religious  wars  in  Europe.  Those 
wars  shook  the  whole  of  Europe  from  the  center  to  the  cir- 
cumference. To-day  those  massacres  go  on  in  Armenia, 
and  the  civilization  of  western  Europe  has  stood  by  para- 
lyzed and  helpless.  It  has  not  been  able  to  do  one  single 
thing  to  check  it.  With  millions  of  armed  men,  with  hun- 
dreds of  great  ships,  it  has  stood  by  and  allowed  the  sultan 
to  wreak  his  will  on  those  helpless  people.  England,  to 
whom  Turkey  owes  her  very  existence  as  a  nation  among 
nations,  has  not  stirred. 

In  the  last  resort,  the  power  which  controls  in  Europe  and 
in  England  is  the  great  power  of  money  and  of  the  money 
lender.  The  money  lenders  do  not  care  how  many  Arme- 
nians are  butchered ;  the  Armenians  are  not  nominated  in 
the  bond  ;  but  they  care  very  much  that  nothing  shall  be 
done  to  disturb  or  jar  anything,  that  nothing  shall  be  done 
to  disturb  values ;  and  they  fear  that  if  England  moved  to 


CUBA    AND    ARMENIA.  169 

rescue  the  wretched  Armenians  values  might  be  disturbed 
and  Ottoman  bonds  decline. 

There  is  England  with  the  greatest  fleet  of  modern  times, 
that  great  flying  squadron  which  she  mobilizes  with  such 
wonderful  speed.  It  has  remained  in  the  English  Channel 
and  furnished  pictures  for  the  illustrated  newspapers.  It 
has  not  been  seen  or  heard  in  the  seas  where  Blake  and 
Nelson  fought  their  battles,  and  yet  England  is  more  respon- 
sible than  any  other  country  for  the  existence  of  Turkey. 

Now,  we  have  right  here  an  Armenia  at  our  own  doors. 
In  Cuba  there  is  useless  bloodshed,  brutality,  cruelty,  and 
destruction  of  life  and  property,  —  all  the  horrors  that  can 
accompany  a  savage  war  which  is  not  submitted  to  the  rules 
of  civilized  warfare.  Is  our  civilization  in  the  United  States 
to  break  down,  as  the  civilization  of  western  Europe  has 
broken  down  before  Armenia?  I  do  not  believe  it  to  be 
possible.  Of  the  sympathies  of  the  American  people,  — 
generous,  liberty-loving,  —  I  have  no  question.  They  are 
with  the  Cubans  in  their  struggle  for  freedom.  I  believe 
our  people  would  welcome  any  action  on  the  part  of  the 
United  States  to  put  an  end  to  the  terrible  state  of  things 
existing  there.  We  can  stop  it.  We  can  stop  it  peacefully. 
We  can  stop  it,  in  my  judgment,  by  pursuing  a  proper 
diplomacy  and  offering  our  good  offices. 

Let  it  at  once  be  understood  that  we  mean  to  stop  the. 
horrible  state  of  things  in  Cuba,  and  it  will  be  stopped. 
The  great  power  of  the  United  States,  if  it  is  once  invoked 
and  uplifted,  is  capable  of  greater  things  than  that.  Stand- 
ing, as  I  believe  the  United  States  stands,  for  humanity  and 
civilization,  we  should  put  a  stop  to  that  war  which  is  now 
raging  in  Cuba,  and  give  to  that  island  once  more  peace, 
liberty,  and  independence. 


I/O  THE    NEW    CENTURY    SPEAKER. 

THE  VENEZUELA  QUESTION. 

HENRY  CABOT  LODGE. 

Now,  what  was  the  Venezuela  question  ?  A  great  many 
words  have  been  written  and  spoken  about  it,  and  yet  it  can 
be  stated  in  a  sentence.  There  is  a  disputed  territory  down 
there  which  involves  the  mouth  of  the  Orinoco,  one  of  the 
great  river  systems  of  South  America,  and  England  said  that 
territory  belonged  to  her  as  heir  of  the  Dutch.  Venezuela 
said  it  belonged  to  her  as  the  heir  of  Spain.  For  twenty 
years  we  have  been  seeking  to  settle  that  question  by  arbi- 
tration; for  twenty  years  we  have  been  put  off.  At  last  we 
met  with  a  blunt  refusal,  and  the  President  replied  with  the 
message  of  the  iyth  of  December,  asserting  the  Monroe 
doctrine  and  the  rights  of  the  United  States. 

Our  position  is  this:  We  do  not  care  if,  by  the  award  of 
an  impartial  tribunal,  England  gets  every  inch  of  her  claim. 
We  are  not  struggling  for  South  American  territory.  But  it 
is  vital  to  us  how  England  gets  it.  If  she  takes  it  by  the 
strong  hand  and  says,  "  We  will  not  arbitrate,"  and  we  yield, 
we  can  offer  no  opposition  to  any  other  European  power  that 
chooses  to  come  in — and  they  would  come  in,  and  they 
would  parcel  out  South  America  as  they  parceled  out  Africa. 
The  hunger  for  land  is  on  the  nations  of  the  earth  to-day, 
and  we  should  find  ourselves  in  a  short  time  surrounded 
by  formidable  neighbors,  whose  presence  would  compel  us 
to  become  a  great  military  power,  like  the  powers  of 
Europe. 

That  is  what  is  at  stake  in  Venezuela,  —  not  a  few  hundred 
miles  of  swamp,  if  you  please,  but  a  great  principle;  and  the 
President  made  his  declaration,  and  Congress  stood  firm,  and 
has  stood  firm.  When  I  say  Congress  has  stood  firm  I  mean 
that  which  is  greater  than  Congress  and  without  which  con- 


THE    VENEZUELA    QUESTION. 

grasses  and  presidents  can  do  nothing,  —  the  American 
people  have  stood  firm.  The  cry  of  war  was  raised,  but 
there  never  was  any  foundation  in  the  cry.  We  have  no 
desire  to  pick  a  quarrel  with  England,  and  England  has  no 
desire  to  fight  us.  The  cry  of  war  was  simply  to  drive 
us  from  our  position.  For  the  same  reason  stocks  were 
poured  out  from  London  into  the  New  York  market. 

A  great  firm  of  London  bankers,  the  Rothschilds,  published 
a  letter  in  a  newspaper  of  New  York  —  owned  and  controlled 
by  a  man  who  is  an  alien  at  heart,  even  if  he  does  hold 
naturalization  papers —  in  which  they  said  that  if  we  did  not 
yield  on  Venezuela  they  would  not  lend  us  money.  Let  me 
say  to  those  gentlemen  and  their  allies  that  the  American 
people  may  have  their  faults,  but  they  are  not  for  sale.  They 
cannot  be  bought,  and  they  cannot  be  bullied,  and  they  have 
stood  firm.  And  what  is  the  result  ?  Parliament  has  met. 
We  said :  —  now  mark  what  we  claimed  !  —  "  This  concerns 
us,  and  we  claim  the  right  to  intervene  for  our  own  safety." 
We  said:  "  The  Monroe  doctrine  applies  to  it."  Parliament 
met,  and  the  queen's  speech  said  that  it  welcomed  the  coop- 
eration of  the  United  States;  in  other  words,  admitted  our 
right  to  intervene. 

After  England  has  conceded  the  justice  of  our  contentions, 
is  it  worth  while  for  Americans  to  argue  that  we  were  wrong? 
We  did  not  go  into  the  business  to  humiliate  anybody.  We 
have  no  exultation  to  express.  We  have  won  our  case.  The 
rest  of  the  settlement,  which  is  sure  to  come,  is  but  a  detail. 
The  principle  has  been  vindicated.  We  are  content.  And 
let  me  say  to  you  now  that  no  such  act  for  peace  has  been 
performed  by  this  country  since  the  rebellion  fell  at  Appo- 
mattox  as  the  position — the  firm,  dignified  position — taken 
by  the  American  people  on  this  question.  England  under- 
stands us  better.  She  has  learned  more  about  us  in  six 
months  than  she  had  learned  before  in  half  a  century. 


THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

There  will  be   a  better  understanding  between   the  two 

great  nations  than  ever  before.     She  has  listened  too  long 

to  the  voices  that  misrepresent  America,  and  now  she  has 

.  heard  from  the  real  America.     And  England  respects  the 

*men  who  love  their  country.    You  never  find  an  Englishman 

who  does  not  believe  in  England  against  all  the  world,  and  I 

wish  that  some  people  here  would  imitate  that  part  of  the 

English  example. 


THE   TRADITIONS   OF   MASSACHUSETTS. 

HENRY  CABOT  LODGE. 

THE  first  public  man  I  ever  saw  when  I  was  a  more  child 
in  my  father's  house  was  Charles  Sumner.  The  first  voice 
I  ever  heard  speak  oh  public  affairs  was  his,  and  he  was 
pleading  the  rights  of  humanity.  Even  a  child  could  under- 
stand that.  He  bore  stripes  for  what  he  believed,  and  you 
could  not  turn  him  from  his  great  struggle  for  the  black  man 
by  telling  him  that  the  negro  could  not  make  as  good  a 
government  as  the  Anglo-Saxon. 

Go  back  a  little  farther.  There  is  Daniel  Webster, 
Secretary  of  State,  declaring  to  the  Austrian  representative 
that  every  people  struggling  for  freedom  had  the  sympathy 
of  the  people  of  the  United  States.  They  sent  for  Kossuth 
and  brought  him  out  here  in  a  man-of-war;  and  it  was  Daniel 
Webster  who  said  in  his  letter  to  Hiilsemann:  "The  great 
Republic  controls  an  area  beside  which  the  possessions  of  the 
house  of  Hapsburg  are  but  a  patch  on  the  earth's  surface." 
It  was  the  same  Daniel  Webster  who  stood  in  the  Congress 
thirty  years  before  and  pleaded  the  cause  of  the  Greeks 
battling  for  their  liberties,  while  he  denounced  Turkey  in 
those  rolling  sentences  of  which  he  alone  was  master. 


THE    TRADITIONS    OF    MASSACHUSETTS. 

Go  back  a  little  farther.  A  British  ship  had  taken  some 
of  our  seamen  out  of  an  American  ship,  and  the  President 
had  asked  for  measures  to  resist  the  outrage.  John  Quincy 
Adams  was  one  of  the  senators  from  Massachusetts.  The 
President  was  not  of  his  party;  I  am  sure  that  the  President's 
policy  was  not  of  his  choosing.  He  did  not  like  it,  but  he 
stood  up  in  his  place  in  the  Senate  and  said  that,  in  the 
presence  of  a  controversy  with  a  foreign  government,  when 
"  the  President  has  recommended  this  measure  on  his  high 
responsibility,  I  would  not  deliberate  —  I  would  act !  "  That 
was  the  voice  of  Massachusetts  then.  Those  are  the 
lessons  I  read  in  the  lives  of  three  of  my  great  prede- 
cessors. 

Go  out  again;  walk  up  into  Dock  Square.  What  is  the 
statue  you  see  there  ?  It  is  that  of  Samuel  Adams.  Close  by 
is  the  place  where  the  first  blood  flowed  in  the  Revolution. 
Hard  by  is  the  chamber  where,  in  the  gathering  twilight,  he 
faced  the  crown  officers  and  said  to  them :  "  You  must 
remove  both  regiments.  If  you  can  remove  one  you  can 
remove  both,  —  both  regiments  or  none."  He  looks  forth 
over  the  harbor  where  the  tea  fell.  Stop  in  front  of  that 
statue  and  put  to  it  the  question :  "  When  the  rights  of  your 
country  are  at  stake,  shall  you  resist  or  shall  you  yield  ?  " 
If  you  could  touch  those  bronze  lips  with  the  fire  of  speech 
what  do  you  think  they  would  say?  They  never  said  "  yield  " 
in  their  life  ! 

We  are  all  agreed  about  Samuel  Adams  to-day.  Do  you 
think  he  did  not  have  his  critics  ?  Eleven  hundred  of  them 
sailed  out  to  Halifax  with  Lord  Howe.  As  they  sailed  out 
of  the  harbor  George  Washington  rode  in  at  the  other  end 
of  the  town,  and  we  have  put  up  a  statue  to  him,  also.  It  is 
down  there  in  the  Public  Garden,  —  the  statue  of  the  man 
who  broke  the  empire  of  England  and  laid  the  foundations 
of  a  mightier  nation  here. 


174  TIIE    NEW    CENTURY    SPEAKER. 

Close  by  is  the  statue  of  Charles  Sumner,  and  the  battle 
of  his  life  was  for  human  rights.  A  little  farther  away  is  the 
statue  of  William  Lloyd  Garrison.  He  was  mobbed  in  the 
streets  of  Boston  1  Mobbed,  and  for  what  ?  For  pleading 
the  rights  of  humanity,  even  if  the  skin  that  covered  the 
humanity  was  black.  There  sits  his  statue  in  Commonwealth 
Avenue.  I  do  not  see  the  effigies  of  the  men  who  mobbed 
him. 

Go  up  the  hill ;  take  one  more  look.  There  is  an  unfinished 
monument  in  front  of  the  State  House,  opposite  the  steps 
where  John  A.  Andrew  sent  the  soldiers  off  to  the  war. 
There  is  an  unfinished  monument  !  Turn  now  to  your 
Harvard  biographies;  read  there  the  letters  of  the  first 
colonel  of  the  first  Massachusetts  black  regiment.  It  was 
not  because  he  was  fighting  for  the  Union  ;  it  was  because, 
in  addition  to  fighting  for  the  Union,  he  was  trying  to  help 
a  race  to  freedom  by  proving  to  all  mankind  that  they 
deserved  their  freedom  because  they  could  fight  for  it. 

That  is  what  he  was  meeting  obloquy,  reproach,  and 
prejudice  for,  and  he  went  off  with  his  black  troops,  and  he 
fell  there  at  Fort  Wagner;  and  slavery,  in  its  ferociousness 
even  on  its  deathbed,  cried  out:  "  Bury  him  with  his  niggers," 
—  one  of  the  noblest  epitaphs  ever  uttered  over  man.  And 
now  Boston  is  raising  a  statue  to  his  memory,  and  there, 
carved  by  the  chisel  of  the  greatest  of  living  sculptors, 
Robert  Shaw  and  his  black  soldiers  will  ride  together  — 
forever  ride  ! 

Those  are  the  memories,  those  are  the  traditions,  such  is 
the  inspiration,  and  such  the  lesson  that  I  find  in  Massa- 
chusetts' history. 


THE    BLUE    AND    THE    GRAY.  1 75 

THE   BLUE   AND   THE   GRAY. 

HENRY  CABOT  LODGE. 

I  WAS  a  boy  ten  years  old  when  the  troops  marched  away 
to  defend  Washington.  I  saw  the  troops,  month  after 
month,  pour  through  the  streets  of  Boston.  I  saw  Shaw  go 
forth  at  the  head  of  his  black  regiment,  and  Bartlett,  shat- 
tered in  body  but  dauntless  in  soul,  ride  by  to  carry  what 
was  left  of  him  once  more  to  the  battlefields  of  the  Republic. 
I  saw  Andrew,  standing  bareheaded  on  the  steps  of  the 
State  House,  bid  the  men  godspeed.  I  cannot  remember 
the  words  he  said,  but  I  can  never  forget  the  fervid  eloquence 
which  brought  tears  to  the  eyes  and  fire  to  the  hearts  of  all 
who  listened.  To  my  boyish  mind  one  thing  alone  was 
clear,  that  the  soldiers,  as  they  marched  past,  were  all,  in 
that  supreme  hour,  heroes  and  patriots.  Other  feelings 
have,  in  the  progress  of  time,  altered  much,  but  amid  many 
changes  that  simple  belief  of  boyhood  has  never  altered. 

And  you,  brave  men  who  wore  the  gray,  would  be  the  first 
to  hold  me  or  any  other  son  of  the  North  in  just  contempt  if 
I  should  say  that  now  it  was  all  over  I  thought  the  North 
was  wrong  and  the  result  of  the  war  a  mistake.  To  the  men 
who  fought  the  battles  of  the  Confederacy  we  hold  out  our 
hands  freely,  frankly,  and  gladly.  We  have  no  bitter  memo- 
ries to  revive,  no  reproaches  to  utter.  Differ  in  politics  and 
in  a  thousand  other  ways  we  must  and  shall  in  all  good 
nature,  but  never  let  us  differ  with  each  other  on  sectional 
or  state  lines,  by  race  or  creed. 

We  welcome  you,  soldiers  of  Virginia,  as  others  more 
eloquent  than  I  have  said,  to  New  England.  We  welcome 
you  to  old  Massachusetts.  We  welcome  you  to  Boston  and 
to  Faneuil  Hall.  In  your  presence  here,  and  at  the  sound 
of  your  voices  beneath  this  historic  roof,  the  years  roll  back, 
and  we  see  the  figure  and  hear  again  the  ringing  tones  of 


1/6          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

your  great  orator,  Patrick  Henry,  declaring  to  the  first  Con- 
tinental Congress,  "  The  distinctions  between  Virginians, 
Pennsylvanians,  New  Yorkers,  and  New  Englanders  are  no 
more.  I  am  not  a  Virginian,  but  an  American." 

A  distinguished  Frenchman,  as  he  stood  among  the  graves 
at  Arlington,  said:  "Only  a  great  people  is  capable  of  a  great 
civil  war.'7  Let  us  add  with  thankful  hearts  that  only  a  great 
people  is  capable  of  a  great  reconciliation.  Side  by  side, 
Virginia  and  Massachusetts  led  the  colonies  into  the  War 
for  Independence.  Side  by  side,  they  founded  the  govern- 
ment of  the  United  States.  Morgan  and  Greene,  Lee  and 
Knox,  Moultrie  and  Prescott,  men  of  the  South  and  men  of 
the  North,  fought  shoulder  to  shoulder,  and  wore  the  same 
uniform  of  buff  and  blue,  —  the  uniform  of  Washington. 

Mere  sentiment  all  this,  some  may  say.  But  it  is  senti- 
ment, true  sentiment,  that  has  moved  the  world.  Sentiment 
fought  the  war,  and  sentiment  has  reunited  us.  When  the 
war  was  closed  it  was  proposed  to  give  Governor  Andrew, 
who  had  sacrificed  health  and  strength  and  property  in  his 
public  duties,  some  immediately  lucrative  office.  A  friend 
asked  him  if  he  would  take  such  a  place.  "  No,"  said  he; 
"  I  have  stood  as  high  priest  between  the  horns  of  the  altar, 
and  I  have  poured  out  upon  it  the  best  blood  of  Massachu- 
setts, and  I  cannot  take  money  for  that."  Mere  sentiment 
truly,  but  the  sentiment  which  ennobles  and  uplifts  mankind. 

So  I  say  that  the  sentiment  manifested  by  your  presence 
here,  brethren  of  Virginia,  sitting  side  by  side  with  those 
who  wore  the  blue,  tells  us  that  if  war  should  break  again 
upon  the  country  the  sons  of  Virginia  and  Massachusetts 
would,  as  in  the  olden  days,  stand  once  more  shoulder  to 
shoulder,  with  no  distinction  in  the  colors  that  they  wear. 
It  is  fraught  with  tidings  of  peace  on  earth,  and  you  may 
read  its  meaning  in  the  words  on  yonder  picture,  "  Liberty 
and  union,  now  and  forever,  one  and  inseparable  !  " 


PERIL    OF    UNRESTRICTED    IMMIGRATION.  I  77 

THE  GREAT  PERIL  OF  UNRESTRICTED  IMMIGRATION, 

HENRY  CABOT  LODGE. 

THE  injury  of  unrestricted  immigration  to  American 
wages  and  American  standards  of  living  is  sufficiently  plain 
and  is  bad  enough,  but  the  danger  which  this  immigration 
threatens  to  the  quality  of  our  citizenship  is  far  worse. 
That  which  it  concerns  us  to  know,  and  that  which  is  more 
vital  to  us  as  a  people  than  all  possible  questions  of  tariff  or 
currency,  is  whether  the  quality  of  our  citizenship  is  endan- 
gered by  the  present  course  and  character  of  immigration  to 
the  United  States. 

That  which  identifies  a  race  and  sets  it  apart  from  others 
is  not  to  be  found  merely  or  ultimately  in  its  physical 
appearance,  its  institutions,  its  laws,  its  literature,  or  even 
its  language.  These  are  in  the  last  analysis  only  the 
expression  or  the  evidence  of  race.  The  achievements  of 
the  intellect  pass  easily  from  land  to  land  and  from  people 
to  people.  The  telephone,  invented  but  yesterday,  is  used 
to-day  in  China,  in  Australia,  or  in  South  Africa  as  freely  as 
in  the  United  States.  The  book  which  the  press  to-day 
gives  to  the  world-  in  English  is  scattered  to-morrow  through- 
out the  earth  in  every  tongue,  and  the  thoughts  of  the 
writer  become  the  property  of  mankind. 
V  You  can  take  a  Hindoo  and  give  him  the  highest  educa- 
tion the  world  can  afford.  He  has  a  keen  intelligence.  He 
will  absorb  the  learning  of  Oxford,  he  will  acquire  the  man- 
ners and  habits  of  England,  he  will  sit  in  the  British  Parlia- 
ment, but  you  cannot  make  him  an  Englishman.  Yet  he, 
like  his  conqueror,  is  of  the  great  Indo-European  family. 
But  it  has  taken  six  thousand  years  and  more  to  create  the 
differences  thus  made,  by  education  in  a  single  life,  because 
they  do  not  rest  upon  the  intellect.  What,  then,  is  this 
matter  of  race  which  separates  the  Englishman  from  the 


1/8          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

Hindoo  and  the  American  from  the  Indian  ?  It  is  some- 
thing deeper  and  more  fundamental  than  anything  which 
concerns  the  intellect. 

On  the  moral  qualities  of  the  English-speaking  race,  there- 
fore, rest  our  history,  our  victories,  and  all  our  future.  There 
is  only  one  way  in  which  you  can  lower  those  qualities  or 
weaken  those  characteristics,  and  that  is  by  breeding  them 
out.  If  a  lower  race  mixes  with  a  higher  in  sufficient  num- 
bers, history  teaches  us  that  the  lower  race  will  prevail. 
The  lower  race  will  absorb  the  higher,  not  the  higher  the 
lower,  when  the  two  strains  approach  equality  in  numbers. 
In  other  words,  there  is  a  limit  to  the  capacity  of  any  race 
for  assimilating  and  elevating  an  inferior  race,  and  when 
you  begin  to  pour  in  in  unlimited  numbers  people  of  alien 
or  lower  races  of  less  social  efficiency  and  less  moral  force, 
you  are  running  the  most  frightful  risk  that  a  people  can  run. 
More  precious,  therefore,  even  than  forms  of  government 
are  the  mental  and  moral  qualities  which  make  what  we  call 
our  race.  While  those  stand  unimpaired  all  is  safe.  When 
those  decline  all  is  imperiled.  They  are  exposed  to  but  a 
single  danger,  and  that  is  by  changing  the  quality  of  our 
race  and  citizenship  through  the  wholesale  infusion  of  races 
whose  traditions  and  inheritances,  whose  thoughts  and 
whose  beliefs  are  wholly  alien  to  ours  and  with  whom  we 
have  never  assimilated  or  even  been  associated  in  the  past. 

The  danger  has  begun.  It  is  small  as  yet,  comparatively 
speaking,  but  it  is  large  enough  to  warn  us  to  act  while 
there  is  yet  time,  and  while  it  can  be  done  easily  and  effi- 
ciently. There  lies  the  peril  at  the  portals  of  our  land  ; 
there  is  pressing  the  tide  of  unrestricted  immigration.  The 
time  has  certainly  come,  if  not  to  stop,  at  least  to  check,  to 
sift,  and  to  restrict  those  immigrants. 

In  careless  strength,  with  generous  hand,  we  have  kept 
our  gates  wide  open  to  all  the  world.  If  we  do  not  close 


THE    PURITAN    OF    ESSEX    COUNTY.  1 79 

them,  we  should  at  least  place  sentinels  beside  them  to 
challenge  those  who  would  pass  through.  The  gates  which 
admit  men  to  the  United  States  and  to  citizenship  in  the 
great  Republic  should  no  longer  be  left  unguarded. 

O  Liberty,  white  goddess,  is  it  well 
To  leave  the  gates  unguarded  ?     On  thy  breast 
Fold  Sorrow's  children,  soothe  the  hurts  of  fate, 
Lift  the  down-trodden,  but  with  hand  of  steel 
Stay  those  who  to  the  sacred  portals  come 
To  waste  the  gifts  of  freedom.     Have  a  care, 
Lest  from  thy  brow  the  clustered  stars  be  torn 
And  trampled  in  the  dust.     For  so  of  old 
The  thronging  Goth  and  Vandal  trampled  Rome, 
And  where  the  temple  of  the  Caesars  stood 
The  lean  wolf  unmolested  made  her  lair. 


THE  PURITAN  OF  ESSEX  COUNTY. 

HENRY  CABOT  LODGE. 

IN  Essex  County  the  Puritan  founded  his  first  town  and 
set  up  his  first  church.  It  was  the  stern  old  Essex  Puritan, 
John  Endicott,  who  cut  St.  George's  cross  from  the  English 
flag  because  it  savored  of  idolatry.  It  was  an  Essex  clergy- 
man who  was  cast  out  of  his  pulpit  because  he  led  his  towns- 
men in  a  refusal  to  pay  illegal  impositions  to  Andros,  as 
John  Hampden  had  refused  ship  money  to  Charles  I.  It 
was  in  Essex  that  resistance  was  organized  to  the  domina- 
tion of  the  capital ;  and  it  was  in  Essex,  too,  that  the  dark 
and  morbid  side  of  Puritan  faith  found  its  last  expression  in 
the  madness  of  the  witchcraft  trials.  So,  when  we  speak  of 
Essex  County,  the  name  brings  to  us  all  that  is  most  char- 
acteristic and  most  essential  in  Puritanism.  • 


i8O          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

The  time  has  come  when  we  ought  to  judge  the  Puritan 
fairly,  and  see  him  as  he  really  was.  There  is  no  lack  of 
opportunity  for  fit  judgment.  The  Puritan  did  not  creep 
along  the  byways  of  his  time.  He  stands  out  in  history  as 
distinctly  as  a  Greek  temple  on  a  hilltop  against  the  bright- 
ness of  the  clear  twilight  sky.  It  is  a  stern  figure  enough, 
but  it  is  a  manly  figure  withal,  full  of  strength  and  force  and 
purpose.  He  had  grave  faults,  but  they  were  the  faults  of 
a  strong  and  not  a  weak  nature,  and  his  virtues  were  those 
of  a  robust  man  of  lofty  aims. 

It  is  true  that  he  drove  Roger  Williams  into  exile  and 
persecuted  the  Antinomians ;  but  he  founded  successful  and 
God-fearing  commonwealths.  He  hanged  Quakers,  and  in 
a  mad  panic  put  old  women  to  death  as  witches;  but  he 
planted  a  college  in  the  wilderness  and  put  a  schoolhouse 
in  every  village.  He  made  a  narrow  creed  the  test  of  citi- 
zenship ;  but  he  founded  the  town  meeting,  where  every 
man  helped  to  govern,  and  where  all  men  were  equal  before 
the  law.  He  banished  harmless  pleasures,  and  cast  a  gloom 
over  daily  life  ;  but  he  formed  the  first  union  of  states  in 
the  New  England  confederacy,  and  through  the  mouth  of  one 
of  the  witchcraft  judges  uttered  an  eloquent  protest  against 
human  slavery  a  century  before  Garrison  was  born  or 
Wilberforce  began  his  agitation. 

He  refused  liberty  of  conscience  to  those  who  sought  it 
beneath  the  shadow  of  his  meeting-house  ;  but  he  kept  the 
torch  of  learning  burning  brightly  in  the  New  World.  In 
the  fullness  of  time  he  broke  the  fetters  which  he  had  him- 
self forged  for  the  human  mind,  as  he  had  formerly  broken 
the  shackles  of  Laud  and  Charles.  He  was  rigid  in  his 
prejudices,  and  filled  with  an  intense  pride  of  race  and 
home  ;  but  when  the  storm  of  war  came  upon  the  colonies 
he  gave  without  measure  and  without  stint  to  the  common 
cause. 


AMERICANISM.  l8l 

Call  the  roll  of  our  poets,  and  you  will  find  New  England's 
answer  in  the  names  of  Longfellow  and  Lowell,  of  Emerson 
and  Holmes.  Call  the  roll  of  our  historians,  and  you  will 
find  her  answer  again  in  the  names  of  Prescott  and  Motley, 
of  Bancroft  and  Parkman.  Turn  to  old  Essex,  the  birth- 
place and  the  center  of  Puritanism,  and  she  will  respond 
with  the  greatest  name  of  all,  —  Nathaniel  Hawthorne,  —  and 
yet  again  with  that  beloved  name  to  which  we  all  bowed  in 
reverence  but  the  other  day,  —  the  name  of  Whittier.  To- 
day Essex  holds  as  her  noblest  possession,  and  the  Puritan 
states  cherish  above  all  men,  the  gracious  poet  who  by  pure 
and  noble  verse  has  been  a  voice  and  a  guide  to  their  people. 
Yet  this  poet  whom  New  England  so  loves  and  cherishes  is 
a  member  of  that  sect  which  two  hundred  years  ago  she  per- 
secuted and  exiled.  Is  not  this  in  itself  a  commentary  upon 
the  growth  of  New  England  above  all  tributes  of  praise  ? 

We  honor  the  Puritan,  despite  all  his  errors,  for  his  strong, 
bold  nature,  his  devotion  to  civic  freedom,  and  his  stern, 
unconquerable  will.  We  would  not  barter  our  descent  from 
him  for  the  pedigree  of  kings.  May  we  not  now  say  that 
we  also  honor  him  because  his  race  has  shown  itself  able  to 
break  through  its  own  trammels,  and  "  rise  on  stepping- 
stones  of  their  dead  selves  to  higher  things"  ? 


AMERICANISM. 

HENRY  CABOT  LODGE. 

"AMERICANISM"  of  the  right  sort  we  cannot  have  too 
much.  By  Americanism  I  do  not  mean  that  which  had  a 
brief  political  existence  more  than  thirty  years  ago.  That 
movement  was  based  on  race  and  sect,  and  was,  therefore, 
thoroughly  un-American,  and  failed,  as  all  un-American  move- 


1 82          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

ments  have  failed  in  this  country.  True  Americanism  is 
opposed  utterly  to  any  political  divisions  resting  on  race  and 
religion.  To  the  race  or  to  the  sect  which  as  such  attempts 
to  take  possession  of  the  politics  or  the  public  education  of 
the  country  true  Americanism  says,  "  Hands  off  !  " 

The  American  idea  is  a  free  church  in  a  free  state,  and  a 
free  and  unsectarian  public  school  in  every  ward  and  in  every 
village,  with  its  doors  wide  open  to  the  children  of  all  races 
and  of  every  creed.  It  goes  still  further  and  frowns  upon 
the  constant  attempt  to  divide  our  people  according  to  origin 
or  extraction.  Let  every  man  honor  and  love  the  land  of  his 
birth  and  the  race  from  which  he  springs  and  keep  their 
memory  green.  It  is  a  pious  and  honorable  duty.  But  let 
us  have  done  with  British- Americans  and  Irish- Americans 
and  German- Americans,  and  all  be  Americans,  — nothing 
more  and  nothing  less.  If  a  man  is  going  to  be  an  American 
at  all,  let  him  be  so  without  any  qualifying  adjectives,  and 
if  he  is  going  to  be  something  else,  let  him  drop  the  word 
American  from  his  personal  description. 

Mere  vaporing  and  boasting  become  a  nation  as  little  as  a 
man.  But  honest,  outspoken  pride  and  faith  in  our  country 
are  infinitely  better  and  more  to  be  respected  than  the  culti- 
vated reserve  which  sets  it  down  as  ill-bred  and  in  bad  taste 
ever  to  refer  to  our  country  except  by  way  of  depreciation, 
criticism,  or  general  negation.  We  have  a  right  to  be  proud 
of  our  vast  material  success,  our  national  power  and  dignity, 
our  advancing  civilization,  carrying  freedom  and  education 
in  its  train.  But  to  count  our  wealth  and  tell  our  numbers 
and  rehearse  our  great  deeds  simply  to  boast  of  them  is  use- 
less enough.  We  have,  a  right  to  do  it  only  when  we  listen 
to  the  solemn  undertone  which  brings  the  message  of  great 
responsibilities,  —  responsibilities  far  greater  than  the  ordi- 
nary political  and  financial  issues,  which  are  sure  to  find, 
sooner  or  later,  a  right  settlement. 


AMERICANISM.  183 

Social  questions  are  the  questions  of  the  present  and  the 
future  of  the  American  people.  The  race  for  wealth  has 
opened  a  broad  gap  between  rich  and  poor.  There  are 
thousands  at  your  gates  toiling  from  sunrise  to  sunset  to  keep 
body  and  soul  together,  and  the  struggle  is  a  hard  and  bitter 
one.  The  idle,  the  worthless,  and  the  criminal  form  but  a 
small  element  of  the  community;  but  there  is  a  vast  body  of 
honest,  God-fearing  workingmen  and  women,  whose  yoke  is 
not  easy  and  whose  burden  is  far  from  light.  We  cannot 
push  their  troubles  and  cares  into  the  background,  and  trust 
that  all  will  come  right  in  the  end.  Let  us  look  to  it  that 
differences  and  inequalities  of  condition  do  not  widen  into 
ruin.  It  is  most  true  that  these  differences  cannot  be  rooted 
out;  but  they  can  be  modified.  Legislation  cannot  change 
humanity  nor  alter  the  decrees  of  nature;  but  it  can  help  the 
solution  of  these  grave  problems. 

Practical  measures  are  plentiful  enough.  They  have  to 
do  with  the  hours  of  labor,  with  emigration  from  our  over- 
crowded cities  to  the  lands  of  the  West,  with  wise  regulation 
of  the  railroads  and  other  great  corporations.  Here  are 
matters  of  great  pith  and  moment,  more  important,  more 
essential,  more  pressing  than  others.  They  must  be  met; 
they  cannot  be  shirked  or  evaded. 

The  past  is  across  the  water;  the  future  is  here  in  our 
keeping.  We  can  do  all  that  can  be  done  to  solve  the  social 
problems -and  fulfill  the  hopes  of  mankind.  Failure  would  be 
a  disaster  unequaled  in  history.  The  first  step  to  success 
is  pride  of  country,  simple,  honest,  frank,  and  ever  present, 
and  this  is  the  Americanism  that  I  would  have.  If  we  have 
this  pride  and  faith,  we  shall  appreciate  our  mighty  respon- 
sibilities. Then,  if  we  live  up  to  them,  we  shall  keep  the 
words  "  an  American  citizen  "  what  they  now  are, — the  noblest 
title  any  man  can  bear. 


CHAUNCEY    M.    DEPEW. 


THE  CAPTURE  OF  ANDRE. 


ANDRE  AND  HALE. 


THE  ARMY  OF  THE  POTOMAC. 


THE  LEGACY  OF  GRANT. 


THE  PLACE  OF  ATHLETICS  IN  COLLEGE  LIFE. 


THE  LAWYER  AND  FREE  INSTITUTIONS. 


HOME  RULE  FOR  IRELAND. 


THE  SCHOLAR  IN  PUBLIC  LIFE, 


186 


THE  CAPTURE  OF  ANDRE.  l8/ 

THE  CAPTURE  OF  ANDRE. 

CHAUNCEY  M.  DEPEVV. 

THE  success  or  failure  of  the  united  colonies  in  forming 
an  independent  government  depended,  from  the  beginning 
to  the  end  of  the  contest,  on  the  state  of  New  York.  A 
British  statesman  and  soldier  said:  "Fortify  from  Canada  to 
the  city  of  New  York  and  we  can  hold  the  colonies  together." 
The  British  Cabinet  and  generals  said:  "  Capture  and  place 
a  chain  of  posts  along  the  route  from  New  York  City  to 
Canada,  and  we  can  crush  rebellious  New  England  and  awe 
all  the  rest  into  submission."  The  Battle  of  Saratoga  and 
surrender  of  Burgoyne  defeated  the  last  and  most  formidable 
attempt  to  accomplish  this  result  by  arms.  Upon  its  bloody 
field  American  independence  was  consummated.  That  grand 
victory,  which  gave  us  unity  at  home  and  recognition  abroad, 
was  largely  due  to  the  skill,  the  dash,  the  intrepid  valor  of 
Arnold. 

The  issue  decided  in  that  conflict  the  control  of  the  passes 
of  the  Hudson,  'and  all  which  would  follow  was  now  to  be 
reopened  and  reversed  by  treason  —  and  the  traitor  the  same 
Arnold.  For  eighteen  months  a  correspondence,  opened  by 
Arnold,  had  been  carried  on  between  him  and  Major  Andre', 
acting  for  Sir  Henry  Clinton.  These  letters,  moulded  in  the 
vocabulary  of  trade  and  treating  of  the  barter  and  sale  of 
cattle  and  goods,  were  really  haggling  about  the  price  of  the 
betrayal  of  the  liberties  of  America  and  a  human  soul. 

Saturday  morning,  the  23d  of  September,  one  hundred 
years  ago,  was  one  of  those  clear,  bright,  exhilarating  days 
when  this  region  is  in  the  fullness  of  its  quiet  beauty.  Andre, 
having  received  from  Benedict  Arnold  the  papers  giving  the 
plans,  fortifications,  armament,  and  troops  at  West  Point,  is 
nearing  the  British  line  and  the  end  of  his  perilous  journey. 


1 88          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

Through  Sparta,  he  strikes  the  river  road,  and  gallops  along 
that  most  picturesque  highway,  the  scenery  in  harmony  with 
the  brilliant  future  spread  before  his  imagination. 

He  recognizes  the  old  Sleepy  Hollow  church,  and  a  half- 
mile  in  front  sees  the  bridge  over  the  little  brook  which  was 
for  him  a  fatal  Rubicon.  On  the  south  side  of  that  stream, 
in  the  bushes  playing  cards,  were  three  young  farmers  of  the 
neighborhood,  —  John  Paulding,  David  Williams,  and  Isaac 
Van  Wart,  —  watching  to  intercept  the  cowboys  and  their 
stolen  cattle.  At  the  approach  of  the  horseman  Paulding 
steps  into  the  road,  presents  his  musket,  and  calls  a  halt. 

Andre  speaks  first:  "  My  lads,  I  hope  you  belong  to  our 
party."  "Which  party?"  they  said.  "The  lower  party," 
he  answered.  "  We  do."  "  Then,  thank  God  !  "  said  he, 
"  I  am  once  more  among  friends.  I  am  a  British  officer,  out 
on  particular  business,  and  must  not  be  detained  a  minute." 
Then  they  said:  "We  are  Americans,  and  you  are  our  pris- 
oner and  must  dismount."  "  My  God  !  "  he  said,  laughing, 
"  a  man  must  do  anything  to  get  along,"  and  presented 
Arnold's  pass. 

Had  he  presented  it  first,  Paulding  said  afterward  he 
would  have  let  him  go.  They  carefully  scanned  it,  but  per- 
sisted in  detaining  him.  He  threatened  them  with  Arnold's 
vengeance  for  this  disrespect  to  his  order;  but,  in  language 
more  forcible  than  polite,  they  told  him  "  they  cared  not  for 
that,"  and  led  him  to  the  great  whitewood  tree,  under  which 
he  was  searched.  As  the  fatal  papers  fell  from  his  feet, 
Paulding  said:  "  My  God,  here  it  is !  "  and,  as  he  read  them, 
shouted  in  high  excitement  to  his  companions,  "  My  God, 
he  is  a  spy !  " 

Now  came  the  crucial  and  critical  moment.  Andre,  fully 
alive  to  his  danger  and  with  every  faculty  alert,  felt  no  harm. 
He  had  the  day  before  bargained  with  and  successfully 
bought  an  American  major-general  of  the  highest  military 


THE    CAPTURE    OF    ANDRE.  1 89 

reputation.  If  a  few  thousand  pounds  and  a  commission  in 
the  British  Army  could  seduce  the  commander  of  a  district, 
surely  escape  was  easy  from  these  three  young  men,  but  one 
of  whom  could  read,  and  who  were  buttressed  by  neither 
fame  nor  fortune.  "  If  you  will  release  me,'7  said  Andre,  "  I 
will  give  you  a  hundred  guineas  and  any  amount  of  dry 
goods.  I  will  give  you  a  thousand  guineas,"  he  cried,  "  and 
you  can  hold  me  hostage  till  one  of  your  number  returns 
with  the  money."  Then  Paulding  swore:  "We  would  not 
let  you  go  for  ten  thousand  guineas." 

That  decision  saved  the  liberties  of  America.  It  voiced 
the  spirit  which  sustained  and  carried  through  the  Revolu- 
tionary struggle  for  nationality,  and  crushed  the  rebellion 
waged  eighty  years  afterward  to  destroy  that  nationality,  — 
the  invincible  courage  and  impregnable  virtue  of  the  common 
people. 

Arnold  and  Andre,  Paulding,  Williams,  and  Van  Wart 
are  characters  in  a  drama  which  crystallizes  an  eternal  prin- 
ciple,—  that  these  institutions  rest  upon  the  integrity  and 
patriotism  of  the  common  people.  As  a  hundred  years  have 
ripened  the  fame  and  enriched  the  merit  of  their  deed,  so 
will  it  be  rehearsed  with  increasing  gratitude  by  each  suc- 
ceeding century.  This  modest  shaft  marks  the  memorable 
spot  where  they  withstood  temptation  and  saved  the  state ; 
but  their  monument  is  the  Republic,  —  its  inscription  upon 
the  hearts  of  its  teeming  and  happy  millions. 


THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

ANDRE  AND  HALE. 

CHAUNCEY  M.  DEPEW. 

ANDRE'S  story  is  the  one  overmastering  romance  of  the 
Revolution.  American  and  English  literature  is  full  of 
eloquence  and  poetry  in  tribute  to  his  memory  and  sympathy 
for  his  fate.  After  the  lapse  of  a  hundred  years,  there  is  no 
abatement  of  absorbing  interest.  What  had  this  young  man 
done  to  merit  immortality  ?  The  mission  whose  tragic  issue 
lifted  him  out  of  the  oblivion  of  other  minor  British  officers, 
in  its  inception  was  free  from  peril  or  daring,  and  its  objects 
and  purposes  were  utterly  infamous. 

Had  he  succeeded  by  the  desecration  of  the  honorable 
uses  of  passes  and  flags  of  truce,  his  name  would  have  been 
held  in  everlasting  execration.  In  his  failure  the  infant 
Republic  escaped  the  dagger  with  which  he  was  feeling  for 
its  heart,  and  the  crime  was  drowned  in  tears  for  his  untimely 
end.  His  youth  and  beauty,  the  brightness  of  his  life,  the 
calm  courage  in  the  gloom  of  his  death,  his  early  love  and 
disappointment  surrounded  him  with  a  halo  of  poetry  and 
pity  which  have  secured  for  him  what  he  most  sought 
and  could  never  have  won  in  battles  and  sieges,  —  a  fame 
and  recognition  which  have  outlived  that  of  all  the  generals 
under  whom  he  served. 

Are  kings  only  grateful,  and  do  not  republics  forget  ?  Is 
fame  a  travesty,  and  the  judgment  of  mankind  a  farce  ? 
America  had  a  parallel  case  in  Captain  Nathan  Hale.  Of 
the  same  age  as  Andre',  he,  after  graduation  at  Yale  College 
with  high  honors,  enlisted  in  the  patriot  cause  at  the  begin- 
ning of  the  contest,  and  secured  the  love  and  confidence  of 
all  about  him.  When  none  else  would  go  upon  a  most 
important  and  perilous  mission,  he  volunteered,  and  was 
captured  by  the  British. 


THE  ARMY  OF  THK  POTOMAC.          IQI 

While  Andre  received  every  kindness,  courtesy,  and 
attention,  and  was  fed  from  Washington's  table,  Hale  was 
thrust  into  a  noisome  dungeon  in  the  sugar  house.  While 
Andre  was  tried  by  a  board  of  officers  and  had  ample  time 
and  every  facility  for  defense,  Hale  was  summarily  ordered 
to  execution  the  next  morning.  While  Andre's  last  wishes 
and  bequests  were  sacredly  followed,  the  infamous  Cunning- 
ham tore  from  Hale  his  cherished  Bible  and  destroyed  before 
his  eyes  his  last  letters  to  his  mother  and  sister,  and  asked 
him  what  he  had  to  say.  "  All  I  have  to  say,"  was  his 
reply,  "  is,  I  regret  I  have  but  one  life  to  lose  for  my 
country." 

The  dying  declarations  of  Andre  and  Hale  express  the 
animating  spirit  of  their  several  armies,  and  teach  why,  with 
all  her  power,  England  could  not  conquer  America.  "  I  call 
upon  you  to  witness  that  "I  die  like  a  brave  man,"  said  Andre, 
and  he  spoke  from  British  and  Hessian  surroundings,  seek- 
ing only  glory  and  pay.  "  I  regret  I  have  but  one  life  to  lose 
for  my  country,"  said  Hale;  and,  with  him  and  his  comrades, 
self  was  forgotten  in  that  absorbing,  passionate  patriotism 
which  pledges  fortune,  honor,  and  life  to  the  sacred  cause. 


THE  ARMY  OF  THE  POTOMAC. 

CHAUNCEY  M.  DEPEW. 

"  ON  to  Richmond  !  "  came  the  unthinking  cry  from  every 
city,  village,  and  cross  roads  in  the  North.  "  On  to  Rich- 
mond !  "  shouted  grave  senators  and  impetuous  congress- 
men. "  On  to  Richmond !  "  ordered  the  Cabinet,  no  longer 
able  to  resist  the  popular  demand,  and  the  raw  and  untrained 
recruits  were  hurled  from  their  unformed  organizations  and 


I Q2          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

driven  back  to  Washington.  Then,  with  discipline  and  drill, 
out  of  the  chaos  came  order.  The  self-asserting  volunteer 
had  become  an  obedient  soldier.  The  mass  had  been 
moulded  into  a  complex  and  magnificent  machine,  and  it 
was  the  "Army  of  the  Potomac." 

Overcoming  untold  difficulties,  fighting  with  superb  cour- 
age, it  comes  in  sight  of  the  spires  of  Richmond.  Unable 
to  succeed  because  McDowell  and  his  corps  of  thirty-four 
thousand  are  held  back,  it  renews  each  morning  and  carries 
on  every  night  in  retreat  the  seven  days'  battle  for  existence, 
and  then,  brought  to  bay  at  Malvern  Hill,  asserts  its  un- 
daunted spirit  in  hard-won  victory.  It  follows  Pope,  and 
marches,  and  finds  foes  for  which  it  is  unprepared,  and 
fights,  and  is  beaten,  under  orders  so  contradictory  and 
counsels  so  divided  that  an  army  of  European  veterans 
would  have  disbanded. 

Immediately  it  recognizes  a  general  in  whom  it  has  con- 
fidence, the  stragglers  come  from  the  bush,  and  the  wounded 
from  the  hospitals.  Regiments,  brigades,  divisions,  and 
corps  reform,  and  at  Antietam  it  is  invincible  and  irresistible. 
Every  man  in  the  ranks  knows  that  the  fortified  heights  of 
Fredericksburg  are  impregnable  ;  that  the  forlorn  hope 
charges  not  into  the  imminent  deadly  breach,  but  into  a 
death  trap ;  and  yet,  with  unfaltering  step,  this  grand  army 
salutes  its  blind  commander,  and  marches  to  the  slaughter. 

Theirs  not  to  reason  why, 
Theirs  not  to  make  reply, 
Theirs  but  to  do  and  die. 

Every  private  was  aware  of  the  follies  of  the  Rappahan- 
nock  campaign.  He  knew  that  the  opportunity  to  inflict  an 
irreparable  blow  upon  the  army  of  Lee  had  been  trifled 
away,  and  that,  after  reckless  delays  to  make  the  movement 
which  at  first  would  have  been  a  surprise,  conceived  by  the 


THE    ARMY    OF    THE    POTOMAC.  1 93 

very  genius  of  war,  was  then  mere  midsummer  madness. 
And  yet  this  incomparable  army,  —  floundering  through 
swamps,  lost  in  almost  impenetrable  forests,  outflanked, 
outmaneuvered,  outgeneraled,  decimated,  —  no  sooner  felt 
the  firm  hand  of  Meade  than  they  destroyed  the  offensive 
and  aggressive  power  of  the  Confederacy  in  the  three  days' 
fighting  at  Gettysburg. 

At  last  this  immortal  army  of  Cromwellian  descent,  of 
Viking  ancestry,  had  at  its  head  a  great  captain  who  had 
never  lost  a  battle,  and  whom  President  Lincoln  had  freed 
from  political  meddling  and  the  interference  of  the  civil 
authorities.  Every  morning  for  thirty  days  came  the  orders 
to  storm  the  works  in  front,  and  every  evening  for  thirty 
nights  the  survivors  moved  to  the  command  :  "  By  the  left 
flank,  march  !  "  and  at  the  end  of  that  fateful  month,  with 
sixty  thousand  dead  or  wounded  in  the  Wilderness,  the 
Army  of  the  Potomac  once  more,  after  four  years,  saw  the 
spires  of  Richmond.  Inflexible  of  purpose,  insensible  to 
suffering,  inured  to  fatigue,  and  reckless  of  danger,  it 
rained  blow  on  blow  upon  its  heroic  but  staggering  foe,  and 
the  world  gained  a  new  and  better  and  freer  and  more 
enduring  Republic  than  it  had  ever  known,  in  the  surrender 
at  Appomattox. 

When  Lincoln  and  Grant  and  Sherman,  firmly  holding 
behind  them  the  vengeful  passions  of  the  Civil  War,  put  out 
their  victorious  arms  to  the  South,  and  said  :  "  We  <  are 
brethren,"  this  generous  and  patriotic  army  joined  in  the 
glad  acclaim  and  welcome  with  their  fervent  "  Amen." 

Twenty-two  years  have  come  and  gone  since  you  marched 
down  Pennsylvania  Avenue  past  the  people's  representatives, 
to  whom  you  and  your  Western  comrades  there  committed 
the  government  you  had  saved  and  the  liberties  you  had 
redeemed  ;  past  Americans  from  whose  citizenship  you  had 
wiped  with  your  blood  the  only  st-iin  and  made  it  the  proud- 


IQ4          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

est  of  earthly  titles.  Call  the  roll.  The  names  reverberate 
from  «arth  to  heaven.  "  All  present  or  accounted  for."  Here 
the  living  answer  for  the  dead ;  there  the  spirits  of  the  dead 
answer  for  the  living.  As  God  musters  them  out  on  earth, 
he  enrolls  them  above;  and  as  the  Republic  marches  down  the 
ages,  accumulating  power  and  splendor  with  each  succeeding 
century,  the  van  will  be  led  by  the  Army  of  the  Potomac. 


THE  LEGACY  OF  GRANT. 

CHAUNCEY  M.  DEPEW. 

AT  West  Point  Grant  was  graduated  without  honor.  In 
the  Mexican  War  he  won  no  great  glory.  As  a  wood- 
seller  he  was  beaten  by  all  the  wood-choppers  of  Missouri. 
He  did  not  earn  his  salary  in  commerce.  But  the  moment 
supreme  command  devolved  upon  him,  and  there  was  a 
country  to  be  saved,  his  great  intellect  grasped  the  situation, 
and  the  god  of  war  was  in  the  field  !  Battles  had  theretofore 
been  fought  with  gloves  ;  victories  had  ended  in  nothing. 
But  here  was  a  genius  that  said  :  "  Unconditional  surrender 
are  my  terms.  I  propose  immediately  to  move  upon  your 
works  ! "  Then  the  end  came. 

Grant  believed  that  fighting  was  to  kill,  that  victory  was 
to  annihilate  the  hope  of  resistance.  At  Vicksburg  he 
moved  his  army  up  the  ramparts,  and,  though  rivers  of 
blood  flowed,  he  saved  oceans  of  blood  that  must  otherwise 
have  flowed  in  the  future.  With  victory  after  victory,  he 
reached  his  zenith  at  Appomatox;  and  the  sun  whiph  rose 
at  Vicksburg  blazed  in  the  glory  of  noonday.  But  while  he 
was  winning  these  victories  and  saving  the  nation  a  thrill  of 
horror  went  through  the  country  at  the  thousands  that  were 
slain,  and  the  cry  of  butcher  was  raised  against  him. 


THE    LEGACY    OF    GRANT.  1 95 

But  Grant  differed  from  all  the  conquerors  of  history  in 
this:  the  moment  that  Grant  had  the  trembling  Confederacy 
at  his  feet  he  was  no  longer  the  soldier.  He  became  trans- 
formed into  the  patriot  and  the  statesman.  He  knew  that 
those  men  who  had  there  surrendered  had  to  be  citizens, 
and  this  was  to  be  our  common  country.  He  knew  that  no 
Republic  could  govern  conquered  provinces.  He  said  :  "  Go 
back  to  your  homes,  cultivate  crops,  create  manufactures, 
develop  commerce,  help  us  to  make  this  the  greatest  nation 
on  the  globe." 

Grant  was  the  greatest  of  all  generals  in  that  he  lacked 
the  faculty  of  jealousy.  The  fondest  and  pleasantest 
moments  to  him  were  when  some  other  general  won  a  vic- 
tory. When  Sheridan  rode  down  the  valley,  when  he  made 
Lee  fall  back  into  the  arms  of  Grant,  Grant  proclaimed  his 
glory  to  the  world  with  ungrudging  generosity.  "  Here  is 
one  of  the  greatest  generals  of  all  time,"  said  Grant  of 
Sheridan.  When  his  companion  in  arms  and  in  friendship 
performed  that  act  which  cast  into  the  shade  the  march  of 
Xenophon  and  his  Greeks,  when  he  destroyed  the  source 
of  the  rebellion's  supplies  and  swept  from  Atlanta  to  the 
sea,  the  man  who  led  then  in  applause  of  Sherman's  great 
achievement  was  Ulysses  S.  Grant. 

But  the  war  was  over.  There  was  a  President  of  the 
United  States  whose  qualities  are  the  paradox  of  patriots, — 
Andrew  Johnson.  He  had  a  greatness  and  a  meanness 
combined,  a  broadness  and  a  narrowness,  a  patriotism  and 
a  sympathy  with  rebellion  which  were  in  him  united  and 
mingled  in  his  composition  as  in  the  composition  of  no  other 
man.  A  poor  white,  he  had  the  pride  of  a  rich  man,  but 
he  had  no  less  the  mingled  passions  of  revenge  and  hatred 
for  the  rich  whites  of  the  South.  "  Treason  is  odious,"  he 
said,  and  he  demanded  that  by  summary  processes  all  the 
leaders  of  the  rebellion  should  be  immediately  executed. 


196          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

Before  the  passions  of  this  paradox  arose  General  Grant. 
Said  he  :  "  Halt !  The  parole  of  Grant  is  the  honor  of  the 
United  States."  As  the  pendulum  swung  to  the  other  side, 
as  Johnson,  though  he  would  serve  the  country  on  his  own 
ideas,  was  willing  to  see  the  country  destroyed  if  his  ideas 
could  not  be  carried  out,  Grant  rose  and  said  :  "  The  bayo- 
nets which  have  protected  the  country  will  save  it  from 
destruction  now." 

Grant  stands  in  history  the  one  grand  figure  of  the  cen- 
tury. Hundreds  of  years  hence  his  name  will  be  as  memor- 
able as  Alexander  the  Great's,  long  after  the  other  men  of 
his  time  are  forgotten.  Caesar  was  greater  than  Grant,  and 
also  infinitely  beneath  him,  for  his  ambition  was  greater 
than  his  virtue.  But  Grant,  sitting  beside  the  emperor  of 
Germany  at  the  great  review  of  the  army,  said :  "  I  hate 
war,"  and  electrified  the  emperor  and  Bismarck  and  Moltke 
by  his  grand  remark. 

What  is  the  lesson  of  Grant's  life  ?  At  Appomattox  and 
as  he  stood  up  against  the  passions  of  Andrew  Johnson,  he 
said  :  "  Let  us  have  peace  !  "  And  when  upon  his^eath- 
bed  a  vision  came  before  him  of  the  tents  of  bothXgreat 
armies,  he  said :  "  Let  us  have  peace."  He  left  as  a  last 
legacy  to  his  countrymen  :  "Let  us  have  peace."  And  we 
will  have  peace,  most  of  all  because  of  him. 


THE  PLACE  OF  ATHLETICS    IN   COLLEGE   LIFE. 

CHAUNCEY  M.  DEPEW. 

DYSPEPSIA  is  no  longer  the  test  of  scholarship,  and  honors 
are  not  won  by  shadows.  The  theology  of  to-day  believes 
that  there  are  no  antagonisms  between  spirituality  and  mus- 
cularity. The  minister  who  hits  sin  so  hard  from  the  pulpit 


THE  PLACE  OF  ATHLETICS  IN  COLLEGE  LIFE.   1 97 

can  whip  any  sinner  in  the  pews.  The  modern  student 
knows  that  a  well-developed  body  and  a  well-informed 
mind  are  necessary  partners  for  intellectual  and  material 
triumphs. 

Exercise  in  solitude  and  without  the  stimulus  of  friendly 
contest  is  always  a  failure.  The  dumb-bell  becomes  a  nui- 
sance, and  the  Indian  club  a  fraud.  Venerable  axioms  are 
exploded  ;  mechanical  movements  of  muscles  make  neither 
athletes  nor  healthy  students.  The  excited  mind  must  guide 
the  procession  of  the  limbs.  To  force  water  by  a  hand 
pump  in  the  cellar  to  a  tank  on  the  roof  is  work  ;  to  master 
the  glorious  sweep  and  artistic  dip  of  the  oar  is  exercise  — 
and  fame. 

Athletics  have  encouraged  manliness  and  stamped  out 
ruffianism.  Every  healthy  youth  generates  steam  faster 
than  under  ordinary  conditions  he  can  work  it  off.  In  the 
old  days  it  impelled  him  to  throw  bricks  through  the  tutors' 
windows,  to  crack  the  college  bell,  to  steal  signs,  and  wrench 
off  door  knobs.  These  diversions  taught  him  contempt  for 
law,  and  kept  him  in  fear  of  the  constable  and  dangerously 
near  the  police  court.  It  dulled  his  sense  of  honor,  and  left 
a  stain  upon  his  character  to  be  exhibited  under  other  con- 
ditions in  after  years.  He  was  rusticated  for  rioting  and 
dropped  because  he  had  neither  a  disciplined  mind  nor 
could  submit  to  discipline. 

But  with  the  bat,  the  ball,  the  oar,  with  the  training  of 
the  gymnasium,  and  in  the  splendid  vigor  of  competitive 
sports,  came  the  fire  and  the  enthusiasm  of  the  Olympian 
games.  The  hard  lesson  that  the  best  training  and  the 
most  faithful  work  alone  win  the  prizes  is  learned  under 
joyous  conditions.  The  page  again  welcomes  every  hard- 
ship that  he  may  bear  the  armor  of  the  knight,  and  the  spirit 
of  chivalry  pervades  the  university.  The  pent-up  forces 
and  the  resistless  energies  of  the  students  become  the 


198  THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

potent  agents  for  physical  development  and  mental  disci- 
pline, and  for  the  growth  of  moral  and  intellectual  health. 

,  Such  men  hail  difficulties  with  ardor  and  overcome  them 
with  ease.  They  love  work  because  of  the  pleasure  in  the 
mastery  and  the  movement  of  the  perfect  machinery  which 
wins  the  game  or  elucidates  the  problemT  The  school  of 
unruly  boys  becomes  a  university  of  active,  thoughtful,  and 
self-reliant  gentlemen.  The  requirements  for  admission  are 
constantly  increasing,  and  the  standard  for  graduation  is 
perpetually  rising. 

Already  practical  men  are  becoming  alarmed  for  fear  the 
advancing  demands  of  the  college  courses  may  keep  a  man 
an  undergraduate  so  long,  and  launch  him  into  his  life  work 
so  late  that  he  can  neither  catch  up  nor  compete  with  those 
who  came  younger  into  the  field.  Except  for  the  disciplined 
and  obedient  mind  which  comes  from  the  training  of  the 
athlete,  it  would  be  hard  to  meet  the  conditions  of  the  cur- 
riculum within  proper  years. 


THE  LAWYER   AND   FREE  INSTITUTIONS. 

CHAUNCEY  M.  DEPEW. 

OURS  is  and  always  has  been  a  government  controlled  by 
lawyers.  In  this  De  Tocqueville  recognized  its  greatest 
claim  to  stability  and  expansion.  The  profession  has  con- 
tributed seventeen  of  the  twenty-one  presidents  of  the  United 
States  and  filled  cabinets  and  councils.  Its  radicalism  has 
always  tended  to  the  preservation  of  liberty,  the  main- 
tenance of  order,  and  the  protection  of  property. 

Lawyers  can  be  agitators  without  being  demagogues. 
They  have  codified  the  laws,  brushed  away  the  subtleties 
of  practice,  abolished  those  fictions  of  law  and  equity  which 


THE    LAWYER    AND    FREE    INSTITUTIONS. 

defeated  justice;  and  yet  liberties  are  always  so  enlarged  as 
to  preserve  essential  rights.  No  other  profession  or  pursuit 
has  behind  it  exemplars  and  a  history  like  the  law.  Its 
teachers  have  been  the  foes  of  anarchy,  misrule,  and  tyranny, 
and  its  principles  form  the  foundation  of  governments  and 
the  palladium  of  rights. 

Call  the  roll,  and  you  summon  God's  chosen  ministers  of 
civilization  and  reform.  It  was  not  Pericles,  but  Solon  and 
his  statutes,  who  made  possible  Grecian  power  and  progress. 
It  was  not  her  legions,  but  her  twelve  tables,  which  made 
Rome  the  mistress  of  the  world.  It  was  not  the  defeat  of 
the  Moslem  hordes,  but  the  discovery  of  the  Pandects,  which 
preserved  Europe.  It  was  not  the  Norman  conqueror,  but 
the  common  law,  which  evolved  constitutional  freedom  out 
of  chaos,  revolution,  and  despotism. 

In  the  sack  of  the  Italian  city  of  Amalfi,  a  copy  of  the 
Pandects  was  discovered ;  the  study  of  the  civil  law  sprang 
up  all  over  Europe,  and  its  administration  passed  from  the 
hands  of  the  ecclesiastics  to  its  trained  professors.  In 
revenge,  the  council  of  the  Church  held  at  Amalfi  decreed 
that  no  lawyer  could  enter  the  kingdom  of  heaven;  but  the 
lawyers  have  requited  this  anathema  by  largely  converting 
the  nations  from  the  hell  of  arms  to  the  heaven  of  arbitration. 

Few  of  the  barons  at  Runnymede  could  read,  and  their 
sword  hilts  were  .their  marks;  but  the  lawyers  improved  upon 
their  demands  by  grafting  upon  the  Great  Charter  those 
Saxon  liberties  for  the  individual  embodied  in  that  noble 
sentiment  of  the  last  will  of  King  Alfred,  that  "  it  was  just 
the  English  should  forever  remain  as  free  as  their  own 
thoughts."  It  was  the  courts  and  not  the  commons  which 
convinced  the  great  and  arbitrary  Queen  Elizabeth  that 
there  were  limits  to  the  royal  prerogative,  and  warned 
Charles  the  First  that  taxation  without  representation  might 
cost  him  his  head. 


2OO          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

When  submission  and  servility  were  threatening  the 
integrity  of  English  institutions,  it  was  Chief  Justice  Coke 
who  steadied  wavering  patriotism  with  the  grand  sentiment: 
"  That  power,  which  is  above  law,  is  not  fit  for  the  king  to 
ask  or  the  people  to  yield."  King  James  the  First,  — 
pedantic,  pig-headed,  and  a  tyrant,  —  said:  "  I  will  dispense 
justice  in  person  and  reverse  decrees  at  will."  The  judges 
firmly  replied:  "  That,  by  the  Constitution,  can  only  be  done 
by  men  learned  in  the  law."  "  Then  I  will  show  what  com- 
mon sense  and  common  honesty  can  do,"  said  the  king,  "by 
sitting  with  you."  But  on  the  third  day  he  abandoned  the 
judgment  seat,  cured,  saying:  "When  one  side  speaks,  the 
case  is  clear,  but  when  the  other  closes,  upon  my  soul,  I 
cannot  tell  which  is  right." 

English  statesmen  had  guaranteed  the  protection  of 
slavery  in  the  West  Indies,  and  the  property  and  prosperity 
of  thousands  were  dependent  upon  that  pledge.  The  policy 
of  the  government,  the  interests  of  trade  were  all  enlisted 
in  its  support;  but  when  Lord  Mansfield  said:  "  I  know  the 
promises  of  the  Cabinet  and  the  immense  sums  of  money 
involved.  Since,  however,  the  question  is  before  me,  a 
slave  cannot  breathe  the  air  of  England,"  then  was  human 
slavery  doomed  all  over  the  world. 

It  was  as  a  law  student  that  Cromwell  learned  those  prin- 
ciples which  caused  him  to  pledge  fortune  and  life  to  the 
motto,  "  that  resistance  to  tyrants  is  obedience  to  God  "; 
and  when  the  gay  Cavalier  went  down  before  the  resistless 
charge  of  his  Ironsides,  the  freedom  and  development  of  the 
English-speaking  world  were  assured.  He  established  peace, 
and  enlarged  the  power  of  his  country  abroad,  and,  though 
Charles  the  Second,  by  violating  the  law,  might  squander 
this  glorious  inheritance  and  disinter  the  remains  of  the 
great  Protector  and  hang  them  at  Tyburn,  his  spirit  crossed 
the  seas  in  the  Mayflower  and  founded  this  Republic. 


HOME  RULE  FOR  IRELAND.  2OI 

HOME  RULE  FOR  IRELAND. 

CHAUNCEY  M.   DEPEW. 

IN  England  a  Tory  member  of  Parliament  said  to  me : 
"Does  anybody  in  America  take  any  interest  in  the  question 
which  Mr.  Gladstone  has  precipitated  upon  us,  except  the 
Irish?  "  I  said  to  him:  "  There  are  no  cross  roads  in  the 
United  States  where  the  question  is  not  watched  with 
the  same  eagerness  with  which  in  a  presidential  canvass 
candidates  and  questions  are  talked  about.  The  only  differ- 
ence between  an  ordinary  presidential  election  with  us  and 
this  election  is  that  our  voices  and  our  votes  are  unanimously 
on  one  side."  "  Well,"  he  said,  "  that  is  because  you  are  not 
informed."  I  said  to  him:  "  It  is  because  we  are  educated 
on  that  question,  and  England  proper  is  not." 

The  principle  of  Home  Rule  starts  from  the  town  meeting, 
starts  from  the  village  caucus,  starts  from  the  ward  gather- 
ing, reaches  the  county  board  of  supervisors,  stops  at  the 
state  legislature,  and  delegates  imperial  power  only  to  Con- 
gress. The  whole  genius  and  spirit  of  American  liberty  is 
Home  Rule  in  the  locality  where  it  best  understands  what 
it  needs,  and  that  only  in  general  matters  shall  the  central 
government  control. 

With  all  our  English-speaking  race,  whatever  may  be  its 
origin  or  its  commingling  with  other  races,  there  is  at  bottom 
a  savage  spirit  —  a  brutal  spirit  —  by  which  we  seek  to  gain 
what  is  necessary  to  our  power  or  to  our  interests  by  might, 
and  to  hold  it,  no  matter  what  may  be  the  right.  Under  the 
impetus  of  that  spirit,  the  English-speaking  race  have  trodden 
upon  rights  and  sacred  privileges  until  they  virtually  circle 
and  control  the  globe. 

I  know  the  common,  middle-class  Englishman.  Whatever 
may  be  the  prejudice  aroused  against  him  in  Ireland  or  in 


2O2  THE    NEW    CENTURY    SPEAKER. 

this  country,  he  is  a  hard-headed,  a  conscientious,  a  moral, 
and  family-loving  man.  All  he  needs  is  to  be  enlightened 
as  to  what  is  right  and  what  is  wrong,  and  he  rises  to  the 
emergency.  When  Gladstone  and  those  who  are  behind  him 
have  educated  him,  he  will  turn  around  and  say  to  the  Tory 
Government,  to  Union-Liberal  Government,  to  Liberal  Gov- 
ernment, to  Radical  Government:  "Justice  to  Ireland,  or  you 
cannot  stay  in  power." 

Now,  I  thought  I  would  talk  with  these  people;  so  I  said 
to  a  Tory  of  some  note :  "  Why  do  you  oppose  Mr.  Glad- 
stone's bill  ?  "  "  Why,"  said  he,  "  because  it  would  confiscate, 
through  an  Irish  Parliament,  all  the  land  there  is  in  Ireland, 
and  the  Protestant  minority  would  be  crushed  out  and  driven 
from  the  Island."  I  said  to  a  Union-Liberal:  "Why  do  you 
oppose  Home  Rule  in  Ireland?  "  "  Why,"  said  he,  "because 
it  would  lead  to  the  disruption  of  the  British  Empire ;  and 
that  is  precisely  the  question  presented  in  your  rebellion 
and  Civil  War." 

I  said  to  the  English  manufacturer:  "Why  don't  you  help 
Ireland  by  taking  over  your  capital  and  developing  her 
industries  and  great  national  capacities?"  He  said:  "Be- 
cause the  beggars  won't  work."  I  said  to  an  English  squire, 
who  is  alive  to-day,  but  who  is  simply  the  mummied  repre- 
sentative of  his  ancestors  of  the  fourteenth  century:  "  Why 
are  you  opposed  to  Gladstone  and  Home  Rule  ?  "  "  Why," 
said  he,  "  because  the  Irish  are  children,  and  must  have  a 
strong  hand  to  govern  them." 

Well,  gentlemen,  all  these  questions  are  answered  success- 
fully either  in  America  or  Ireland  to-day.  The  fact  that 
among  the  noblest,  the  most  brilliant,  the  most  magnificent 
contributions  to  the  forces,  of  human  liberty,  not  only  in 
Ireland  but  in  the  world,  which  have  been  given  in  the  last 
century,  no  small  number  have  come  from  the  Protestant 
minority  in  Ireland  answers  the  question  of  Irish  bigotry. 


THE    SCHOLAR    IN    PUBLIC    LIFE.  2O3 

What  have  the  Irishmen  in  this  country  done  ?  Whenever 
they  are  freed  from  the  distressing  and  oppressing  influences 
which  have  borne  them  down  for  centuries  in  their  country, 
they  do  work.  They  have  built  our  great  public  works  ;  they 
have  constructed  our  vast  system  of  railways;  they  have  done 
more  than  that:  they  have  risen  to  places  of  power  and  emi- 
nence in  every  walk  of  industry  and  in  every  avenue  which 
is  open  to  brains  and  to  pluck. 

I  doubt,  however,  if  the  justice  and  strength  of  Home  Rule 
would  have  been  so  thoroughly  understood  and  so  unani- 
mously approved  by  the  American  people,  except  for  the 
conversion  and  resistless  advocacy  of  an  English  statesman 
who  has  for  years  held  the  first  place  in  our  admiration  and 
respect.  Americans  recognize  genius  everywhere,  and  neither 
race  nor  nationality  is  a  barrier  to  their  appreciation  and 
applause.  Beyond  all  other  men  in  the  Old  World,  one 
Englishman  of  supreme  ability,  of  marvelous  eloquence 
and  varied  acquirements,  has  fired  their  imaginations  and 
enthusiasm,  —  William  E.  Gladstone. 


THE  SCHOLAR  IN  PUBLIC  LIFE. 

CHAUNCEY  M.  DEPEW. 

PUBLIC  life  has  been  in  all  free  states  the  highest  and 
noblest  of  ambitions.  To  guide  the  Republic,  command  lis- 
tening senates,  and  promote  the  national  welfare  fill  the 
full  measure  of  duty  and  fame.  But  the  same  causes  which 
threaten  solid  learning  have  changed  the  representative 
opportunities.  The  energy  of  business,  its  absorption  of  all 
classes,  its  demand  for  uninterrupted  time  and  attention, 
and  the  increase  of  the  cost  of  living  have  nowhere  pro- 


2O4  THE    NEW    CENTURY    SPEAKER. 

duced  such  marked  effects  as  upon  our  statesmanship. 
Hence,  the  halls  of  Congress  are  gradually  filling  up  with 
wealthy  men  and  professional  placemen.  The  glorious 
school  in  which  preceding  generations  were  trained  for 
grand  careers  is  almost  disbanded. 

Convictions  yield  to  expediency,  and  the  ability  to  guide 
and  the  courage  to  resist  are  leaving  their  accustomed  seats. 
By  combinations  and  cunning,  mediocrity  occupies  positions 
it  cannot  fill,  and  the  "  machine  "  runs  for  the  suppression 
of  dangerous  ability  and  the  division  of  all  dividends  of 
honor  and  power  among  its  directors.  The  leaders  are 
dependent  upon  followers  who  have  no  livelihood  but  office, 
and  who  desert  the  setting,  and  worship  the  rising,  sun  with 
a  facility  which  surpasses  the  Middle  Age  courtier,  who 
cried  :  "  The  king  is  dead  ;  long  live  the  king  !  " 

There  is  not  at  this  hour  in  public  life  a  single  recognized 
and  undisputed  leader  of  a  great  party,  or  the  progenitor  of 
accepted  ideas.  The  Congressional  Record  is  a  morass  of 
crudity  and  words  whose  boundless  area  and  fathomless 
depths  none  have  the  courage  to  explore.  The  Washingtons, 
Adamses,  and  Jays  of  the  first  period,  the  Hamiltons,  Jef- 
fersons,  and  Madisons  of  the  second,  the  Websters,  Clays, 
and  Calhouns  of  the  third,  and  the  Sewards,  Sumners, 
Chases,  and  Lincolns  of  the  fourth  have  no  successors  of 
equal  power  and  influence.  The  debates  of  to-day  are 
unread,  but  the  utterances  of  these  statesmen  were  the  ora- 
cles of  millions.  Has  the  talent  which  made  these  men 
eminent  died  out  ?  Oh,  no.  It  is  practising  law,  editing 
newspapers,  managing  manufactories,  mines,  and  commerce, 
building  railroads,  and  directing  transportation. 

If,  then,  those  who  fill  the  leaders'  place  cannot  lead,  so 
much  greater  the  responsibility  and  duty  which  rest  upon 
the  liberally  educated.  Never  fear  but  that,  if  they  are  true 
to  their  mission,  whenever  one  of  those  mighty  crises  comes 


THE    SCHOLAR    IN    PUBLIC    LIFE.  2O5 

which  threaten  the  stability  of  our  institutions  and  demand 
the  services  of  the  loftiest  patriotism  and  genius,  from  the 
ranks  will  spring  other  Websters  and  Clays  to  the  council, 
other  Sewards,  Chases,  and  Stantons  to  the  cabinet,  other 
Lincoln s  to  the  presidency,  and  other  Grants,  Shermans, 
Sheridans,  and  Thomases  to  the  field. 

We  need  have  no  regrets  for  the  past,  or  anxiety  for  its 
return.  No  time  is  so  good  as  the  present,  no  period,  no 
country  so  rich  in  liberty  and  opportunity  as  ours.  The 
^most  radical,  we  are  also  the  most  conservative  of  states. 
We  can  canonize  William  Lloyd  Garrison  as  a  reformer,  and 
dismiss  Dennis  Kearney  as  a  demagogue.  Genius,  which 
was  misunderstood  or  ignored  or  persecuted  or  put  to  death 
in  its  own  time,  receives  the  recognition  and  applause  of 
ours.  Plato  was  sold  into  slavery,  and  Socrates  compelled 
to  drink  the  hemlock.  Cicero  pleaded  to  bought  juries; 
Sidney  and  Russell,  though  heroes  with  us,  were  martyrs  in 
their  own  age. 

While  even  the  earlier  part  of  this  century  doubled  and 
opposed  the  railroad,  tried  to  prevent  the  introduction  of 
gas,  and  sneered  at  and  fought  the  telegraph,  this  decade 
welcomes  and  encourages  all  invention  and  discovery,  art 
and  letters.  Twenty  years  ago  Emerson,  the  transcendental- 
ist,  and  Darwin,  the  evolutionist,  were  alike  the  objects  of 
almost  universal  sneers  and  scoffs  ;  and  now  the  world, 
assigning  to  each  the  highest  place  in  his  sphere,  stands  by 
reverently  with  bared  head  while  the  one  is  buried  beneath 
the  Concord  elms,  and  the  other  is  laid  away  in  Westminster 
Abbey  among  England's  mighty  dead. 

A  recent  tragedy,  which  shocked  and  stilled  the  world, 
brought  before  his  countrymen  a  glorious  example  of  the 
scholar  in  public  life.  While  performing  with  rigid  exact- 
ness all  the  duties  of  his  calling,  he  never  neglected  the 
claims  the  community  had  upon  his  citizenship  and  culture. 


2O6          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

He  found  time  every  day  for   his   allotted   lines   from  the 
classics  and  pages  in  some  book  of  solid  worth. 

When  he  enlisted  in  the  army,  he  mastered  the  curriculum 
of  West  Point  in  three  months,  and  won  Kentucky  by  cross- 
ing a  swollen  river,  when  the  engineers  could  suggest  no 
remedy,  upon  a  bridge  constructed  from  recollections  of 
Caesar's  Commentaries.  He  learned  the  French  language  to 
get  readier  access  to  the  great  works  upon  finance,  when 
his  Congressional  duties  demanded  a  solution  of  that  vital 
question  ;  and  reasoning  from  original  principles,  founded 
in  his  college  life,  impressed  upon  the  Supreme  Court  of  the 
United  States  a  new  bulwark  of  liberty.  The  broad  founda- 
tion he  laid  at  college,  his  loyalty  ever  after  to  learning,  and 
the  uses  and  duties  of  knowledge,  developed  the  backwoods 
boy  into  the  learned  scholar,  the  good  teacher,  the  success- 
ful soldier,  the  accomplished  lawyer,  the  eloquent  orator,  the 
equipped  statesman,  and  the  lamented  President  —  James 
A.  Garfield. 


CHARLES    H.  PARKHURST. 


207 


THE  CORRUPTION  OF  MUNICIPAL  GOVERNMENT. 


A  MORAL  CRISIS. 


CHRISTIAN  CITIZENSHIP. 


PIETY  AND  Civic  VIRTUE. 


THE  PULPIT  AND  POLITICS. 


208 


THE    CORRUPTION    OF    MUNICIPAL    GOVERNMENT.     2OQ 

THE  CORRUPTION  OF  MUNICIPAL  GOVERNMENT. 

CHARLES  H.  PARKHURST,  D.D. 

EVERY  solid  statement  of  fact  is  argument.  Every  time 
you  deal  with  things  as  they  are,  and  name  them  in  honest, 
ringing  Saxon,  you  have  done  something.  It  has  always 
been  a  trump  card  in  the  devil's  game  to  keep  things  mixed. 
He  mixed  them  in  Paradise,  and  he  has  been  trying  to  keep 
them  mixed  ever  since.  If  the  powers  that  manage  this 
town  are  supremely  and  concertedly  bent  on  encouraging 
iniquity  in  order  to  the  strengthening  of  their  own  position 
and  the  enlargement  of  their  own  capital,  what,  in  heaven's 
name,  is  the  use  of  disguising  the  fact  and  wrapping  it  up  in 
ambiguous  euphemisms  ? 

Something  like  a  year  ago,  in  company  with  a  number  of 
gentlemen,  I  conferred  in  his  office  with  the  highest  munici- 
pal dignitary  of  this  city  in  regard  to  the  slovenly  and  wicked 
way  in  which  he  was  pretending  to  clean  our  streets.  In 
what  I  had  to  say  to  him  at  the  time  I  addressed  him  as 
though  he  were  a  man,  and  as  though  he  had  the  supreme 
interests  of  this  city  at  heart  ;  and  I  have  been  ashamed  of 
myself  from  the  crown  of  my  head  to  the  sole  of  my  foot 
ever  since. 

Our  city  in  its  municipal  life  is  thoroughly  rotten.  Gam- 
bling houses  flourish  on  all  these  streets  almost  as  thick  as 
roses  in  Sharon.  They  are  open  to  the  initiated  at  any  hour 
of  day  or  night.  They  are  eating  into  the  character  of  some 
of  what  we  are  accustomed  to  think  of  as  our  best  and  most 
promising  young  men.  They  are  a  constant  menace  to  all 
that  is  choicest  and  most  vigorous  in  a  moral  way  in  the 
generation  that  is  now  moving  on  to  the  field  of  action. 

If  we  try  to  close  up  a  gambling  house,  we,  in  the  guile- 
lessness  of  our  innocent  imaginations,  might  have  supposed 


2IO          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

that  the  arm  of  the  city  government  that  takes  cognizance  of 
such  matters  would  find  no  service  so  congenial  as  that  of 
combining  with  well-intentioned  citizens  in  turning  up  the 
light  on  these  nefarious  dens  and  giving  to  the  public  certi- 
fied lists  of  the  names  of  their  frequenters.  But  if  you  con- 
vict a  man  of  keeping  a  gambling  hell  in  this  town,  you 
must  do  it  in  spite  of  the  authorities  and  not  by  their  aid. 

But  you  ask  me,  perhaps,  what  is  the  use  of  all  this  assev- 
eration and  vituperation  ?  What  is  the  good  of  protesting  ? 
What  is  the  good  of  protesting  ?  Do  you  know  that  a 
Protestant  is  nothing  but  a  protestant  ?  A  man  who  pro- 
tests ?  And  did  not  the  men  who  protested  in  the  sixteenth 
century  do  a  good  deal  ?  Did  they  not  start  a  volcano 
beneath  the  crust  of  the  whole  European  civilization  ? 
Wherever  you  have  a  Luther,  a  grand  stick  of  human  tim- 
ber, all  afire  with  holy  indignation,  a  man  of  God,  who  is 
not  too  lymphatic  to  get  off  his  knees  or  too  cowardly  to 
come  out  of  his  closet,  confront  iniquity,  look  it  in  the  eye, 
plaster  it  with  its  baptismal  name  —  such  a  man  can  start  a 
reformation  and  revolution  every  day  in  the  year,  if  there 
are  enough  of  them  to  go  around.  Why,  it  makes  no  dif- 
ference how  thick  the  darkness  is,  a  ray  of  light  will  cut  it. 

What  Christianity  has  done,  Christianity  can  do.  And 
when  it  is  done,  it  is  going  to  be  done  by  the  men  and 
women  who  stand  up  and  make  a  business  of  the  thing 
and  quit  playing  with  it.  If  your  Christianity  is  not  vigor- 
ous enough  to  help  save  this  country  and  this  city,  it  is  not 
vigorous  enough  to  do  anything  toward  saving  you. 

Reality  is  not  worn  put.  The  truth  is  not  knock-kneed. 
The  incisive  edge  of  bare-bladed  righteousness  will  still 
cut.  Only  it  has  got  to  be  righteousness  that  is  not  afraid 
to  stand  up,  move  into  the  midst  of  iniquity,  and  shake 
itself.  The  humanly  incarcerated  principles  of  this  Gospe/ 
were  able  in  three  centuries  to  change  the  complexion  of  the 


A    MORAL    CRISIS.  211 

whole  Roman  Empire;  and  there  is  nothing  the  matter  with 
the  Christianity  here,  except  that  the  incarnations  of  it  are 
lazy  and  cowardly,  and  think  more  of  their  personal  comfort 
than  they  do  of  municipal  decency,  and  more  of  their  dollars 
than  they  do  of  a  city  that  is  governed  by  men  who  are  not 
tricky  and  beastly. 

I  have  meant  to  be  unprejudiced  in  my  position,  and  con- 
servative in  my  demands,  but  we  have  got  to  have  a  better 
world,  and  we  have  got  to  have  a  better  city  than  this  is ; 
and  men  who  feel  iniquity  keenly  and  who  are  not  afraid  to 
stand  up  and  hammer  it  unflinchingly  and  remorselessly, 
and  never  get  tired  of  ha'mmering  it,  are  the  instruments 
God  has  always  used  to  the  defeat  of  Satan  and  the  bringing 
in  of  a  better  day. 


A  MORAL  CRISIS. 

CHARLES  H.  PARKHURST,  D.D. 

THE  history  of  this  city  has  reached  a  point  of  moral 
crisis.  I  admit  that  there  is  nothing  truer  than  the  state- 
ment that  has  been  reiteratedly  made  by  parties  that  are 
themselves  involved  in  these  iniquities,  that  matters  are  in 
no  worse  shape  now  than  they  have  been  for  a  good  many 
years.  More  than  two  years  ago  people  well  versed  in  the 
municipal  situation  were  saying  :  "  These  things  are  all 
true,  but  what  are  you  going  to  do  about  it  ?  "  The  stagger- 
ing point  in  the  situation  was  its  moral  lifelessness  — 
pricking  the  conscience  produced  no  pain.  We  were  suffer- 
ing from  ethical  bankruptcy.  We  were  being  ruled  by 
beasts,  and  yet  it  did  not  hurt  our  feelings.  Our  moral 
cuticle  had  become  seared  down  to  the  situation. 


2Ij|  THE    NEW    CENTURY    SPEAKER. 

I  am  not  speaking  now  of  the  conscience  of  our  rulers ; 
take  them  as  they  run,  they  have  n't  any.  All  that  crime 
means  to  them  is  the  liability  of  being  sent  to  Sing  Sing  for 
it.  With  them  remorse  is  a  lost  art.  I  am  not  saying  that 
there  are  not  exceptions  to  this.  I  am  simply  saying  that, 
taken  as  a  whole,  the  herd  that  is  preying  on  us  is  composed 
of  a  lot  of  moral  incapables  that  have  breathed  iniquity, 
eaten  iniquity,  drunk  iniquity,  and  bartered  in  iniquity  so 
long  that  to  them  iniquity  is  actually  the  normal  condition 
of  things,  as  propriety  and  decency  are  normal  to  the  esti- 
mate of  people  that  live  righteously. 

But  it  is  the  parents  who  should  reflect  upon  what  all  this 
municipal  condition  means.  The  influences  with  which  the 
air  is  saturated  are  boring  into  and  honeycombing  the  tissue 
of  young  integrity.  There  is  nothing  more  insidiously  fatal 
to  a  boy's  prospective  manhood  than  to  gain  an  early  im- 
pression that  the  difference  between  a  straight  line  and  a 
line  that  is  not  quite  straight,  is  more  an  affair  of  imagination 
than  it  is  of  fact.  A  man  who  is  in  very  close  alliance  with 
the  liquor  interest  in  this  town,  but  who,  for  all  that,  believes 
in  law  and  its  enforcement,  and  who  appreciates  distinctly 
the  fact  that  there  is  nothing  that  will  abstract  from  a  young 
person  moral  virility  like  letting  him  imagine  that  law  is  not 
a  fact  but  a  fiction,  recently  told  me  this  anecdote  of  his 
own  boy  : 

"  Father,"  said  he,  "  that  liquor  saloon  is  open  and  it  is 
Sunday,  and  the  law  says  it  shall  not  be  open  Sunday. 
Father,  what  is  law,  anyway?  " 

And  because  in  this  community  law  is  not  handled  as 
though  it  had  its  grounds  in  the  eternal,  nor  truth  dealt  with 
other  than  as  ninepins  set  up  to  be  bowled  down,  character 
is  despoiled  of  its  virility.  And  one  thing  that  we  have  to 
remember  is  that  there  is  no  power,  even  in  the  might  of 
God,  to  recover  a  people  and  set  it  again  upon  a  high  track 


CHRISTIAN    CITIZENSHIP.  213 

of  destiny  when  it  has  once  reached  a  certain  point  of  moral 
decay.  History  declares  that  with  a  directness  and  with  an 
emphasis  of  reiteration  that  is  overwhelming  and  appalling. 
National  sin  means  national  poison,  and  the  unstemmed 
progress  of  national  disease  means  eventual  national  death. 
It  always  has  and  always  will,  and  God  will  make  no  excep- 
tion in  behalf  of  the  Western  Continent. 

If  there  is  no  way  of  staying  the  tide  of  pollution  that  is 
setting  with  so  full  and  oozy  a  current  as  has  been  so  repul- 
sively demonstrated  in  our  own  town,  if,  I  say,  there  is  no 
way  of  stopping  it,  there  is  not  much  remaining  for  us  to  do 
but  wait  for  destiny  and  pray  for  the  Lord  to  take  us  before 
the  year  of  destiny  comes. 


CHRISTIAN  CITIZENSHIP. 

CHARLES  H.  PARKHURST,  D.D. 

THE  fundamental  service  which  the  church  has  to  render 
in  the  line  of  municipal  or  national  betterment  is  to  develop 
in  Christians  as  such  a  civic  consciousness.  To  an  Ameri- 
can the  stars  and  stripes  ought  to  be  as  actually  a  part  of 
his  religion  as  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount.  Other  things 
being  equal,  it  is  as  urgently  the  obligation  of  a  Christian  to 
go  to  the  polls  on  election  day  as  it  is  for  him  to  go  to  the 
Lord's  table  on  communion  day. 

That  sense  of  the  holy  obligation  which  citizenship 
involves  must  be  made  part  of  our  Christian  religion.  It 
must  be  taught  from  the  pulpit,  rehearsed  in  the  home,  reit- 
erated in  the  Sunday  school,  and  practiced  in  the  life.  I 
wish  the  time  might  come  when  we  could  have  our  national 
colors  displayed  in  the  sanctuary;  not  simply  hung  from  the 


214          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

belfry  in  a  shy  kind  of  way  on  Fourth  of  July  and  the  twenty- 
second  of  February,  but  made  a  permanent  part  of  sanctuary 
decoration. 

The  old  Hebrew  never  thought  of  patriotism  as  anything 
but  a  constituent  part  of  religion.  To  him  it  was  religion  in 
its  political  aspects.  I  wish  there  were  some  way  in  which 
we  could  make  civic  virtue  part  of  our  creed.  It  would  be  a 
tremendous  gain  if  we  could  all  of  us  come  to  conceive  of 
and  to  handle  civic  duties,  such  as  attending  the  primaries 
and  going  to  the  polls,  as  lying  on  religious  ground  and 
contained  within  Christian  jurisdiction. 

The  instant  effect  of  such  civic  consciousness  would  be 
to  bring  the  citizen  into  direct  practical  relations  to  his  city 
or  country,  and  to  make  him  feel  in  regard  to  his  city,  for 
example,  "  This  is  my  city."  No  matter  how  many  mayors 
or  aldermen  or  police  captains  you  have,  it  is  your  city  all  the 
same,  and  no  city  is  safe  unless  its  citizens  tread  steadily  on 
the  heels  of  those  who  have  been  hired  to  do  the  town's 
business.  The  mayor  is  bound  to  look  after  the  citizens,  but 
the  citizens  are  just  as  much  bound  to  look  after  the  mayor. 
The  police  must  watch  the  people,  but  the  people  must 
watch  the  police. 

The  evil  will  have  to  be  overcome  with  the  good,  and  per- 
sonality is  the  thing  that  will  have  to  do  it.  It  will  have  to 
be  done  by  men  with  convictions  and  with  the  courage 
of  their  convictions.  It  will  have  to  be  done  by  men  who 
remember  always  that  the  security  and  the  honor  of  the  com- 
munity lies  not  so  much  in  its  great  statesmen,  in  its  power- 
ful leaders,  or  even  in  its  educational  advantages  as  it  does 
in  the  number  of  its  men  with  whom  righteousness  is  a 
chronic  passion,  civic  duty  a  part  of  Christianity. 


PIETY    AND    CIVIC    VIRTUE.  21$ 

PIETY  AND  CIVIC   VIRTUE. 

CHARLES  H.  PARKHURST,  D.D. 

THE  fault  with  the  mass  of  civic  virtue  is  that  there  is  not 
enough  Christian  live  coal  in  it  to  make  it  safe  to  be  counted 
on  for  solid  effects.  What  a  wicked  man  will  do  on  election 
day  you  can  tell.  What  a  good  man  will  do  you  cannot  tell. 
Most  likely  he  will  not  do  anything.  It  is  a  singular  fact 
that  goodness  cannot  be  so  confidently  trusted  as  depravity 
can  to  do  what  is  expected  of  it.  It  is  not  so  reliable.  It 
takes  a  larger  consideration  to  prevent  a  bad  man  from  cast- 
ing his  ballot  for  rum  than  it  does  to  prevent  a  good  man 
from  going  and  voting  against  it. 

Average  decency  is  not  so  much  in  earnest  as  average 
profligacy.  Elections  in  city  and  state  are  very  likely  to  turn 
on  the  weather.  Singularly  enough,  a  watery  day  is  apt  to 
mean  a  rum  government.  Respectability  looks  at  the  barom- 
eter before  it  steps  out  of  doors.  Decency  is  afraid  of  taking 
cold.  Piety  does  not  like  to  get  its  feet  wet.  Wickedness 
is  amphibious  and  thrives  in  any  element  or  in  no  element. 
There  are  a  good  many  lessons  which  the  powers  of  darkness 
are  competent  to  teach  the  children  of  light,  and  that  is  one 
of  them.  Vice  is  a  good  deal  spryer  than  virtue,  has  more 
staying  power,  can  work  longer  without  getting  out  of 
breath,  and  has  less  need  of  half-holidays. 

I  know  because  of  this  people  say,  You  can't  do  anything. 
You  can.  One  man  can  chase  a  thousand ;  we  have  the 
Almighty's  word  for  it.  I  have  done  it.  I  am  not  bragging 
of  it  ;  but  I  have  done  it.  And  any  man  can  do  it,  be  he 
Catholic,  Republican,  or  Democrat,  if  he  have  the  truth  on 
his  side,  dares  to  stand  up  and  tell  it,  is  distinguished  by 
consecrated  hang-to-itiveness,  and  when  he  has  been  knocked 
down  once  preserves  his  serenity,  gets  up,  and  goes  at  it 


2l6          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

again.  One  man  can  chase  a  thousand.  Let  our  earnest, 
fiery  citizens  once  get  but  an  inkling  of  what  citizenship 
means,  in  its  truest  and  innermost  sense,  and  there  is  no  wall 
of  misrule  too  solidly  constructed  for  it  to  overthrow ;  no 
"machine"  of  demagogism  too  elaborately  wrought  for  it 
to  smash.  There  is  nothing  that  can  stand  in  the  way  of 
virtue  on  fire.  A  fact  you  can  misstate,  a  principle  you  can 
put  under  a  false  guise,  but  a  man  you  cannot  down  ;  that 
is  to  say,  if  he  is  a  man  who  has  grit,  grace,  and  sleeps  well 
o'  nights. 

There  is  no  play  about  this  work;  there  is  no  fun  in  it.  It 
means  annoyances;  it  means  enmities.  It  is  no  more  possible 
to  stand  up  in  the  presence  of  the  community  and  speak  the 
truth  in  cold  monosyllables  now  than  it  was  in  Jerusalem  two 
thousand  years  ago.  Human  nature  has  not  altered  any  in 
that  time.  There  is  not  so  much  wickedness  now,  perhaps, 
as  there  was  then,  but  what  there  is  is  just  as  wicked  and 
just  as  malignant.  If  a  man  butts  his  head  against  a  wall, 
he  may  be  able  to  do  a  little  something  towards  weakening 
the  wall,  but  it  will  be  certain  to  give  him  the  headache. 
Action  and  reaction  are  bound  to  be  equal.  Nothing  less 
than  the  steady  pull  of  a  long  and  devout  purpose  will  be 
sufficient  under  those  circumstances  to  keep  the  man  a-going. 

Men  now  are  precisely  what  they  were  when  they  thrust 
Jeremiah  into  a  hole  and  took  off  the  head  of  John  the 
Baptist.  But  that  makes  not  a  whit  of  difference.  Every 
blow  tells.  Wickedness  is  cowardly  and  Pentecostal  virtue 
is  not.  That  makes  a  huge  difference.  The  matter  of 
numbers  does  not  come  into  the  account.  History  is  not 
administered  on  the  basis  of  arithmetic.  The  declaration  of 
Solomon  that  the  battle  is  not  to  the  strong  has  been  justified 
by  every  age  of  moral,  political,  and  military  history. 

No  cause  can  be  called  a  weak  cause  that  has  vitality 
enough  about  it  to  make  devotees  out  of  its  advocates. 


THE    PULPIT    AND    POLITICS. 

Philip  Second  could  do  nothing  with  poor  little  Holland 
because  the  Protestant's  idea  put  recruits  on  their  feet  faster 
than  Philip's  mercenaries  could  shoot  or  roast  the  veterans. 
If  any  one  anywhere  is  anxious  to  accomplish  something 
in  the  way  of  ameliorating  the  condition  of  his  town  or  city, 
and  asks  me  what  he  shall  do,  I  answer  in  ten  words  :  Get 
the  facts ;  state  them ;  stand  up  to  them. 


THE  PULPIT   AND   POLITICS. 

CHARLES  H.  PARKHURST,  D.D. 

THE  particular  political  stripe  of  a  municipal  administra- 
tion is  no  matter  of  our  interest  and  none  of  our  business  ; 
but  to  strike  at  iniquity  is  the  business  of  the  church.  It  is 
primarily  what  the  church  is  for,  no  matter  in  what  connec- 
tion that  sin  may  find  itself  associated  and  intermixed.  If 
it  is  proper  for  us  to  go  around  cleaning  up  after  the  devil, 
it  is  proper  for  us  to  fight  the  devil.  If  it  is  right  to  cure,  it 
is  right  to  prevent,  and  a  thousand  times  more  economical 
and  sagacious.  Republicans  and  Democrats  we  have  nothing 
to  do  with,  but  sin  is  our  particular  province  to  ferret  out, 
to  publish,  and,  in  unadorned  Saxon,  to  stigmatize. 

And  sin,  be  it  remembered,  never  gets  tired ;  never  is  low- 
spirited  ;  has  the  courage  of  its  convictions  ;  never  fritters 
away  its  power  and  its  genius  pettifogging  over  side  issues. 
And  so  piety,  when  it  fronts  sin,  has  got  to  become  grit. 
Salt  is  a  concrete  commodity,  and  requires  to  be  rubbed  into 
the  very  pores  of  decay.  I  scarcely  ever  move  into  the  busy 
parts  of  this  town  without  feeling  in  a  pained  way  how  little 
of  actual  touch  there  is  between  the  life  of  the  church  and 
the  life  of  the  times. 


2l8          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

I  have  no  criticism  to  pass  on  the  effort  to  improve  the 
quality  of  civilization  in  Central  Africa,  but  it  would  count 
more  in  the  moral  life  of  the  world  to  have  this  city,  where 
the  heart  of  the  country  beats,  dominated  in  its  government 
by  the  ethical  principles  insisted  on  by  the  Gospel  than  to 
have  evangelical  light  a  hundred  miles  broad  thrown  clear 
across  the  Dark  Continent.  And  the  men  and  women  that 
live  here  are  the  ones  to  do  it.  It  is  achievable.  What 
Christianity  has  done  Christianity  can  do. 

In  the  pulpit  to-day  there  is  not  a  great  deal  of  statesman- 
ship, and  outside  of  it  there  is  not  any  —  that  I  know  of. 
There  is  politics,  but  there  is  not  statesmanship.  Do  you 
know  what  the  difference  is  between  statesmanship  and  poli- 
tics ?  Well,  politics  is  statesmanship  with  the  moral  gristle 
left  out.  But  how  long  has  it  been  since  anybody  at  Wash- 
ington has  stood  up  in  the  strength  of  a  Wilson,  a  Sumner, 
a  Webster,  or  an  Elijah,  and  spoken  the  word  that  has  drawn 
to  a  snug  attention  the  moral  sense  of  this  great  people  ? 
We  used  to  have  speeches  made  there  that  would  ring  clear 
across  the  continent  and  clear  the  air  for  a  decade.  But 
there  is  no  longer  the  Samson  at  Washington  that  will  fling 
his  arms  about  the  two  pillars  and  bow  himself  mightily. 

So  that  at  present  if  you  are  going  to  have  statesmen  you 
will  have  to  look  to  the  pulpit  for  them.  And  is  there  a 
place  where  one  would  have  any  better  right  to  expect  them 
to  abound  ?  If  there  is  any  Moses  who  can  climb  to  the  top 
of  Sinai  and  commune  with  God  and  behold  with  an 
unabashed  eye  the  realities  that  compose  the  tissue  of  all 
history,  why  should  he  not  lead  the  waiting  host  when  he 
gets  back  to  the  foot  of  the  mountain  ?  Why  leave  it  to  dirty 
Aaron,  who,  meantime,  has  been  stripping  the  people  and 
building  golden  calves  ?  The  idea  of  a  rabble  of  cut-throats, 
thieves,  thugs,  and  libertines  presuming  to  stand  up  and  tell 
God's  prophets  to  keep  their  hands  off  the  ark  of  the  cove- 


THE    PULPIT    AND    POLITICS.  2IQ 

narit,  when  the  sole  regard  they  have  for  the  ark  is  their 
sacrilegious  appetite  for  the  golden  pot  of  manna  that  is 
preserved  in  the  interior  of  the  ark  ! 

There  is  moral  material  enough  in  community,  but  it  lacks 
leadership.  The  prophets  of  God  are  here  to  meet  that 
exigency.  That  is  what  they  are  for ;  to  foster  and  train 
moral  sentiment,  to  compact  arid  marshal  it,  and  hold  it 
along  lines  of  earnest  and  intelligent  devotement  to  the 
common  weal. 


HENRY   W.  GRADY. 


THE  UNIVERSITY  THE  TRAINING  CAMP  OF  THE  FUTURE. 


THE  SOUTHERN  NEGRO. 


PROHIBITION  IN  ATLANTA. 


THE  SOUTH  AND  HER  PROBLEMS. 


CENTRALIZATION  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES. 


THE  NEW  SOUTH. 


THE    TRAINING    CAMP    OF    THE    FUTURE.  223 

THE  UNIVERSITY  THE  TRAINING   CAMP  OF   THE  FUTURE. 

HENRY  W.  GRADY. 

WE  are  standing  in  the  daybreak  of  the  second  century  of 
this  Republic.  The  fixed  stars  are  fading  from  the  sky,  and 
we  grope  in  uncertain  light.  The  unrest  of  dawn  impels  us 
to  and  fro,  but  Doubt  stalks  amid  the  confusion,  and  even 
on  the  beaten  paths  the  shifting  crowds  are  halted,  and  from 
the  shadows  the  sentries  cry :  "  Who  comes  there  ?  " 

Nothing  is  steadfast  or  approved.  The  church  is  besieged 
from  without  and  betrayed  from  within.  Behind  the  courts 
smoulders  the  rioter's  torch  and  looms  the  gibbet  of  the 
anarchists.  Trade  is  restless  in  the  grasp  of  monopoly,  and 
commerce  shackled  with  limitation.  The  cities  are  swollen, 
and  the  fields  are  stripped.  Splendor  streams  from  the 
castle,  and  squalor  crouches  in  the  home.  The  universal 
brotherhood  is  dissolving,  and  the  people  are  huddling  into 
classes.  The  hiss  of  the  Nihilist  disturbs  the  covert,  and  the 
roar  of  the  mob  murmurs  along  the  highway.  Amid  it  all 
beats  the  great  American  heart,  undismayed ;  and,  standing 
fast  by  the  challenge  of  his  conscience,  the  citizen  of  the 
Republic,  tranquil  and  resolute,  notes  the  drifting  of  the 
spectral  currents  and  calmly  awaits  the  full  disclosures  of 
the  day. 

Who  shall  be  the  heralds  of  this  coming  day  ?  Who  shall 
thread  the  way  of  honor  and  safety  through  these  besetting 
problems  ?  You,  my  countrymen,  you  !  The  university  is 
the  training  camp  of  the  future.  The  scholar,  the  champion 
of  the  coming  years.  Napoleon  overran  Europe  with  drum- 
tap  and  bivouac  ;  the  next  Napoleon  shall  form  his  battalions 
at  the  tap  of  the  schoolhouse  bell,  and  his  captains  shall 
come  with  cap  and  gown.  Waterloo  was  won  at  Oxford  ; 
Sedan  at  Berlin.  So  Germany  plants  her  colleges  in  the 


224          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

shadow  of  the  French  forts,  and  the  professor  smiles  amid 
his  students  as  he  notes  the  sentinel  stalking  against  the 
sky.  The  farmer  has  learned  that  brains  mix  better  with  his 
soil  than  the  waste  of  seabirds.  A  button  is  pressed  by  a 
child's  finger  and  the  work  of  a  million  men  is  done.  The 
hand  is  nothing  ;  the  brain  everything. 

Physical  prowess  has  had  its  day,  and  the  age  of  reason 
has  come.  The  lion-hearted  Richard  challenging  Saladin  to 
single  combat  is  absurd.  Science  is  everything  !  She  draws 
Boston  within  three  hours  of  New  York,  renews  the  famished 
soil,  routs  her  viewless  bondsmen  from  the  electric  center  of 
the  earth,  and  then  turns  to  watch  the  new  Icarus  as,  mount- 
ing in  his  flight  to  the  sun,  he  darkens  the  burnished  ceiling 
of  the  sky  with  the  shadow  of  his  wing. 

Learning  is  supreme,  and  you  are  its  prophets.  Here  the 
Olympic  games  of  the  Republic  —  and  you  are  its  chosen 
athletes.  It  is  yours,  then,  to  grapple  with  these  problems, 
to  confront  and  master  these  dangers.  Yours  to  decide 
whether  the  tremendous  forces  of  this  Republic  shall  be  kept 
in  balance,  or  whether,  unbalanced,  they  shall  bring  chaos; 
whether  sixty  million  men  are  capable  of  self-government,  or 
whether  liberty  shall  be  lost  to  them  who  would  give  their 
live%s  to  maintain  it.  Your  responsibility  is  appalling.  You 
stand  in  the  pass  behind  which  the  world's  liberties  are 
guarded. 

This  government  carries  the  hopes  of  the  human  race. 
Blot  out  the  beacon  that  lights  the  portals  of  this  Republic, 
and  the  world  is  adrift  again.  But  save  the  Republic, 
establish  the  light  of  its  beacon  over  the  troubled  waters, 
and  one  by  one  the  nations  of  the  earth  shall  drop  anchor 
and  be  at  rest  in  the  harbor  of  universal  liberty. 


THE  SOUTHERN  NEGRO.  225 

THE  SOUTHERN  NEGRO. 

HENRY  W.  GRADY. 

FAR  to  the  south  lies  the  fairest  and  richest  domain  of 
this  earth.  There  by  night  the  cotton  whitens  beneath  the 
stars,  and  by  day  the  wheat  locks  the  sunshine  in  its  bearded 
sheaf.  There  are  mountains  stored  with  exhaustless  treas- 
ures, forests,  vast  and  primeval,  and  rivers  that,  tumbling  or 
loitering,  run  wanton  to  the  sea.  But  why  is  it,  though  the 
sectional  line  be  now  but  a  mist  that  the  breath  may  dispel, 
fewer  men  of  the  North  have  crossed  it  over  to  the  South 
than  when  it  was  crimson  with  the  best  blood  of  the  Repub- 
lic, or  even  when  the  slaveholder  stood  guard  every  inch  of 
its  way  ?  There  can  be  but  one  answer.  It  is  the  very 
problem  we  are  now  to  consider.  My  people,  your  brothers 
in  the  South  —  brothers  in  blood,  in  destiny,  in  all  that  is 
best  in  our  past  and  future  —  are  so  beset  with  this  problem 
that  their  very  existence  depends  upon  its  right  solution. 

I  thank  God  as  heartily  as  you  do  that  human  slavery  is 
gone  forever  from  the  American  soil.  But  the  freedman 
remains.  With  him  a  problem  without  precedent  or  parallel. 
Note  its  appalling  conditions.  Two  utterly  dissimilar  races 
on  the  same  soil  —  with  equal  civil  and  political  rights  — 
almost  equal  in  numbers,  but  terribly  unequal  in  intelligence 
and  responsibility  —  each  pledged  against  fusion  —  one  for 
a  century  in  servitude  to  the  other,  and  freed  at  last  by  a 
desolating  war  —  the  experiment  sought  by  neither,  but 
approached  by  both  with  doubt,  — these  are  the  conditions. 

The  President  of  the  United  States,  discussing  the  plea 
that  the  South  should  be  left  to  solve  this  problem,  asks : 
"  Are  they  at  work  upon  it  ?  What  solution  do  they  offer  ? 
When  will  the  black  man  cast  a  free  ballot  ?  "  When  will 
the  black  cast  a  free  ballot?  When  ignorance  anywhere  is 


226  THE    NEW    CENTURY    SPEAKER. 

not  dominated  by  the  will  of  the  intelligent;  when  the  laborer 
anywhere  casts  a  vote  unhindered  by  his  boss,  —  then  and 
not  till  then  will  the  ballot  of  the  negro  be  free. 

Meantime  we  treat  the  negro  fairly,  measuring  to  him 
justice  in  the  fullness  the  strong  should  give  to  the  weak, 
and  leading  him  in  the  steadfast  ways  of  citizenship,  that  he 
may  no  longer  be  the  prey  of  the  unscrupulous  and  the 
sport  of  the  thoughtless.  The  love  we  feel  for  that  race  you 
cannot  measure  nor  comprehend.  As  I  attest  it  here,  the 
spirit  of  my  old  black  mammy  from  her  home  up  there  looks 
down  to  bless,  and  through  the  tumult  of  this  night  steals 
the  sweet  music  of  her  crooning,  as  thirty  years  ago  she  held 
me  in  her  black  arms  and  led  me  smiling  into  sleep. 

This  scene  vanishes  as  I  speak,  and  I  catch  a  vision  of 
an  old  Southern  home,  with  its  lofty  pillars  and  its  white 
pigeons  fluttering  down  through  the  golden  air.  I  see  women 
with  strained  and  anxious  faces  and  children  alert  yet  help- 
less. I  see  night  come  down  with  its  dangers  and  its  appre- 
hensions, and  in  a  big  homely  room  I  feel  on  my  tired  head 
the  touch  of  loving  hands  —  now  worn  and  wrinkled,  but 
fairer  to  me  yet  than  the  hands  of  mortal  woman,  and 
stronger  yet  to  lead  me  than  the  hands  of  mortal  man  —  as 
they  lay  a  mother's  blessing  there,  while  at  her  knees  —  the 
truest  altar  I  yet  have  found  —  I  thank  God  that  she  is  safe 
in  her  sanctuary,  because  her  slaves,  sentinel  in  the  silent 
cabin  or  guard  at  her  chamber  door,  put  a  black  man's 
loyalty  between  her  and  danger. 

I  catch  another  vision.  The  crisis  of  battle  —  a  soldier 
struck,  staggering,  fallen.  I  see  a  slave  scuffling  through  the 
smoke,  winding  his  black  arms  about  the  fallen  form,  reckless 
of  the  hurtling  death,  bending  his  trusty  face  to  catch  the 
words  that  tremble  on  the  stricken  lips,  so  wrestling  mean- 
time with  agony  that  he  would  lay  down  his  life  in  his 
master'-s  stead.  I  see  him  by  the  weary  bedside,  ministering 


PROHIBITION    IN    ATLANTA. 


with  uncomplaining  patience,  praying  with  all  his  humble 
heart  that  God  will  lift  his  master  up,  until  death  comes  in 
mercy  and  in  honor  to  still  the  soldier's  agony  and  seal  the 
soldier's  life.  I  see  him  by  the  open  grave,  mute,  motion- 
less, uncovered,  suffering  for  the  death  of  him  who  in  life 
fought  against  his  freedom. 

I  see  him  when  the  mound  is  heaped  and  the  great  drama 
of  his  life  is  closed,  turn  away  and  with  downcast  eyes  and 
uncertain  step  start  out  into  new  and  strange  fields,  faltering, 
struggling,  but  moving  on,  until  his  shambling  figure  is  lost 
in  the  light  of  this  better  and  brighter  day.  And  from  the 
grave  comes  a  voice,  saying  :  "  Follow  him  !  Put  your  arms 
about  him  in  his  need,  even  as  he  once  put  his  about  me. 
Be  his  friend,  as  he  was  mine."  And  out  into  this  new 
world  —  strange  to  me  as  to  him,  dazzling,  bewildering  both 
-  I  follow.  And  may  God  forget  my  people  —  when  they 
forget  these  ! 


PROHIBITION   IN   ATLANTA. 

HENRY  W.  GRADY. 

MR.  GEORGE  ADAIR  rents  houses  to  thirteen  hundred 
tenants.  He  states  that  he  has  issued,  in  the  last  year,  one 
distress  warrant  where  he  issued  twenty,  two  years  ago.  I 
claim  to  be  an  intelligent  man  with  some  courage  of  convic- 
tion; and  I  pledge  you  my  word,  if  that  one  fact  were  estab- 
lished to  my  satisfaction,  I  would  vote  for  prohibition  in 
Atlanta,  although  I  never  heard  another  word  on  this 
subject. 

Have  you  thought  what  that  means,  —  a  distress  warrant? 
It  means  eviction;  it  means  the  very  thing  that  is  to-day 
kindling  the  heart  of  the  world  for  poor  Ireland.  It  means 


228          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

eviction  !  It  means  turning  woman  and  her  little  children 
out  of  the  house  which  has  sheltered  them,  and  to  which 
they  are  entitled.  I  was  astonished  at  Colonel  Adair's 
statement.  Mr.  Tally,  who  rents  six  hundred  or  eight 
hundred  houses,  says:  "  I  used  to  issue  two  or  three  distress 
warrants  —  four  or  five  —  a  month.  I  have  not  issued  a 
single  one  in  eighteen  months."  Now,  both  of  them  are 
Prohibitionists. 

Have  you  ever  thought  about  a  woman  being  turned  out 
of  her  house,  —  the  little  cottage  which  covers  her  and  her 
children?  Can  you  picture  —  you  who  live  in  comfortable 
homes  filled  with  light  and  warmth  and  books  and  joy — can 
you  think  of  these  people,  —  human  beings,  our  brothers  and 
sisters;  the  poor  mother,  brave,  though  her  heart  is  breaking, 
huddling  her  little  children  about  her;  and  the  father,  weak, 
but  loving,  and  loving  all  the  deeper  because  he  knows  his 
weakness  has  brought  them  to  this  want  and  degradation; 
and  the  little  children  of  whom  our  Savior  said  :  "  Suffer  them 
to  come  unto  me,  and  forbid  them  not,"  as  they  ask,  "  Mamma, 
where  shall  we  sleep  to-night? "  —can  you  picture  that,  and 
then  their  taking  themselves  up,  and  the  woman  putting  her 
hand  with  undying  love  and  faith  in  the  hand  of  the  man 
she  swore  to  follow  through  good  and  evil  report,  and  march- 
ing up  and  down  the  street  —  this  pitiable  procession  — 
through  the  unthinking  streets,  by  laughing  children  and 
shining  windows,  looking  for  a  hole  where,  like  the  foxes, 
they  may  hide  their  poor  heads  ? 

My  friends,  they  talk  to  you  about  personal  liberty,  that  a 
man  should  have  the  right  to  go  into  a  grogshop  and  see 
this  pitiable  procession  —  now  stopped  —  parading  up  and 
down  our  streets  again.  They  talk  to  you  about  the  shades 
of  Washington,  Monroe,  and  Jefferson.  I  would  not  give  one 
happy,  rosy  little  woman,  uplifted  from  that  degradation  — 
happy  again  in  her  home,  with  the  cricket  chirping  on  her 


PROHIBITION    IN    ATLANTA.  22Q 

hearthstone,  and  her  children  about  her  knee,  her  husband, 
redeemed  from  drink,  at  her  side  —  I  would  not  give  one  of 
them  for  all  the  shades  of  all  the  men  that  ever  contended 
since  Cataline  conspired  and  Caesar  fought. 

I  assume  to  keep  no  man's  conscience:  I  assume  to  judge 
for  no  man.  I  do  not  assume  that  I  am  better  than  any  man, 
but  that  I  am  weaker.  But  I  say  this  to  you :  I  have  a  boy 
as  dear  to  me  as  the  ruddy  drops  that  gather  about  this 
heart.  I  find  my  hopes  already  centering  in  his  little  body, 
and  I  look  to  him  to-night  to  take  to  himself  the  work  that, 
strive  as  I  may,  must  fall  unfinished  at  last  from  my  hands. 
Now,  I  know  they  say  it  is  proper  to  educate  a  boy  at  home; 
that  if  he  is  taught  right  at  home  he  will  not  go  wrong.  But 
I  have  seen  sons  of  as  good  people  as  ever  lived  turn  out 
badly.  I  accept  my  responsibility  as  a  father.  The  boy  may 
fall  from  the  right  path,  as  things  now  exist.  If  he  does, 
then  I  shall  bear  that  sorrow  with  such  resignation  as  I  may; 
but  I  tell  you,  if  I  were  to  vote  to  recall  the  bar  rooms  to 
this  city,  when  I  know  it  has  prospered  in  their  absence,  and 
that  -boy  should  fall  through  their  agency,  I  tell  you  —  and 
this  conviction  has  come  to  me  in  the  still  watches  of  the 
night — I  could  not,  wearing  the  crowning  sorrow  of  his 
disgrace  and  looking  into  the  eyes  of  her  whose  heart  he 
had  broken — I  could  not,  if  I  had  voted  to  recall  these 
bar  rooms,  find  answer  for  my  conscience  or  support  for  my 
remorse. 

The  best  reforms  of  this  earth  come  through  waste  and 
storm  and  doubt  and  suspicion.  The  sun  itself  when  it  rises 
on  each  day  wastes  the  radiance  of  the  moon  and  blots  the 
starlight  from  the  skies,  but  only  to  unlock  the  earth  from 
the  clasp  of  night  and  to  plant  the  stars  anew  in  the  opening 
flowers.  Behind  that  sun,  as  behind  this  movement,  we  may 
be  sure  there  stands  the  Lord  God  Almighty,  master  and 
maker  of  the  universe. 


23O          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

THE  SOUTH  AND  HER  PROBLEMS. 

HENRY  W.  GRADY. 

As  I  speak  to  you  to-day,  I  wish  to  tell  you  of  a  soldier 
who  lay  wounded  on  a  hard-fought  field.  The  roar  of  battle 
had  died  away,  and  he  rested  in  the  deadly  stillness  of  its 
aftermath.  Not  a  sound  was  heard  as  he  lay  there,  sorely 
smitten  and  speechless,  but  the  shriek  of  men,  and  the  sigh 
of  the  dying  soul  as  it  escaped  from  the  tumult  of  earth  into 
the  unspeakable  peace  of  the  stars. 

Off  over  the  field  flickered  the  lanterns  of  the  surgeons 
with  the  litter  bearers,  searching  that  they  might  take  away 
those  whose  lives  could  be  saved,  and  leave  in  sorrow  those 
who  were  doomed  to  die  with  pleading  eyes  through  the 
darkness.  This  poor  soldier  watched,  unable  to  move  or 
speak,  as  the  lanterns  grew  near.  At  last  the  light  flashed 
in  his  face,  and  the  surgeon,  with  kindly  face,  bent  over  him, 
hesitated  a  moment,  shook  his  head,  and  was  gone,  leaving 
the  poor  fellow  alone  with  death.  He  watched  in  patient 
agony  as  they  went  on  from  one  part  of  the  field  to  another. 
As  they  came  back  the  surgeon  bent  over  him  again.  "  I 
believe  if  this  poor  fellow  lives  until  sundown  to-morrow," 
said  the  surgeon,  "  he  will  get  well." 

All  night  long  these  words  fell  into  the  soldier's  heart  as 
the  dews  fell  from  the  stars  upon  his  lips,  "  if  he  but  lives 
till  sundown  he  will  get  well."  He  turned  his  weary  head 
to  the  east,  and  watched  for  the  coming  sun.  At  last  the 
stars  went  out,  the  east  trembled  with  radiance,  and  the  sun, 
slowly  lifting  above  the  horizon,  tinged  his  pallid  face  with 
flame.  He  watched  it  inch  by  inch  as  it  climbed  slowly  up 
the  heavens.  He  thought  of  life,  its  hopes  and  ambitions, 
its  sweetness  and  its  raptures,  and  he  fortified  his  soul  against 


THE  SOUTH  AND  HER  PROBLEMS.         23! 

despair  until  the  sun  had  reached  high  noon.  He  thought 
of  his  far-off  home,  the  blessed  house  resting  in  tranquil 
peace,  with  the  roses  climbing  to  its  door  and  the  trees 
whispering  to  its  windows,  and,  dozing  in  the  sunshine,  the 
orchard,  and  the  little  brook  running  like  a  silver  thread 
through  the  forest. 

"  If  I  live  till  sundown,  I  will  see  it  again.  I  will  walk 
down  the  shady  lane.  I  will  open  the  battered  gate,  and  the 
mocking  bird  shall  call  to  me  from  the  orchard,  and  I  will 
drink  once  more  at  the  old  mossy  spring." 

And  the  Son  of  God,  who  had  died  for  men,  bending  from 
the  stars,  put  the  hand  that  had  been  nailed  to  the  cross  on 
the  ebbing  life,  and  held  it  tenderly  until  the  sun  went  down 
and  the  stars  came  out,  and  shone  down  in  the  brave  man's 
heart  and  blurred  in  his  glistening  eyes,  and  the  lanterns  of 
the  surgeons  came,  and  he  was  taken  from  death  to  life. 

The  world  is  a  battlefield  strewn  with  the  wreck  of 
government  and  institutions,  of  theories  and  of  faiths  that 
have  gone  down  in  the  ravage  of  years.  On  this  field  lies 
the  South,  sown  with  her  problems.  Upon  the  field  swing 
the  lanterns  of  God.  Amid  the  carnage  walks  the  Great 
Physician.  Over  the  South  he  bends.  "  If  ye  but  live  until 
to-morrow's  sundown,  ye  shall  endure,  my  countrymen."  Let 
us  for  her  sake  turn  and  watch  as  the  soldier  did  for  the 
coming  sun.  Let  us  staunch  her  wounds  and  hold  steadfast. 
And  when  the  sun  has  gone  down  and  the  day  of  her  proba- 
tion has  ended,  and  the  stars  shall  have  rallied  her  heart, 
the  lanterns  shall  be  swung  over  the  field,  and  the  Great 
Physician  shall  lead  her  up  from  trouble  into  content,  from 
suffering  into  peace,  from  death  to  life. 

Let  every  man  here  pledge  himself  in  that  high  and  ardent 
hour,  as  I  pledge  myself,  that  in  death  and  earnest  loyalty, 
in  patient  painstaking  and  care,  every  man  will  watch  her 
interests,  advance  her  fortune,  defend  her  fame,  and  guard 


232          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

her  honor  as  long  as  life  shall  last.  Every  man  in  the 
sound  of  my  voice,  under  the  deeper  consecration  he  offers 
to  the  Union,  will  consecrate  himself  to  the  South.  Have 
no  ambition  but  to  be  first  at  her  feet  and  last  at  her  service. 
No  hope  but,  after  a  long  life  of  devotion,  to  sink  to  sleep 
in  her  bosom,  as  a  little  child  sleeps  at  his  mother's  breast 
and  rests  untroubled  in  the  light  of  her  smile. 


' 


CENTRALIZATION  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES. 

HENRY  W.  GRADY. 


--'  /  THE  unmistakable  danger  that  threatens  free  government 
in  America  is  the  increasing  tendency  to  concentrate  in  the 
federal  government  powers  and  privileges  that  should  be 
left  with  the  states,  and  to  create  powers  that  neither  the 
state  nor  federal  government  should  have. 

Concurrent  with  this  political  drift  is  another  movement, 
less  formal,  perhaps,  but  not  less  dangerous,  —  the  consolida- 
tion of  capital.  The  world  has  not  seen  nor  has  the  mind 
of  man  conceived  of  such  miraculous  wealth  gathering  as 
are  everyday  tales  to  us.  Aladdin's  lamp  is  dimmed,  and 
Monte  Cristo  becomes  commonplace  when  compared  to  our 
magicians  of  finance  and  trade. 

I  do  not  denounce  the  newly  rich.  Our  great  wealth  has 
brought  us  profit  and  splendor.  But  the  status  itself  is  a 
menace.  A  home  that  costs  three  million  dollars  and  a  break- 
fast that  costs  five  thousand  dollars  are  disquieting  facts  to 
the  millions  who  live  in  a  hut  and  dine  on  a  crust.  The  fact 
that  a  man  ten  years  from  poverty  has  an  income  of  twenty 
million  dollars  falls  strangely  on  the  ears  of  those  who  hear 
it,  as  they  sit  empty-handed  while  children  cry  for  bread. 


CENTRALIZATION    IN    THE    UNITED    STATES.          233 

But  the  abuse  of  this  amazing  power  of  consolidated 
wealth  is  its  bitterest  result  and  its  pressing  danger.  We 
have  read  of  the  robber  barons  of  the  Rhine,  who  from  their 
castles  sent  a  shot  across  the  bow  of  every  passing  craft, 
and,  descending  as  hawks  from  the  crags,  tore  and  robbed 
and  plundered  the  voyagers  until  their  greed  was  glutted  or 
the  strength  of  their  victims  spent.  Shall  this  shame  of 
Europe  against  which  the  world  revolted,  shall  it  be  repeated 
in  this  free  country  ?  And  yet,  when  a  syndicate  or  a  trust 
can  arbitrarily  add  twenty-five  per  cent  to  the  cost  of  a 
single  article  of  common  use,  and  safely  gather  forced  trib- 
ute from  the  people,  until  from  its  surplus  it  could  buy  every 
castle  on  the  Rhine,  or  requite  every  baron's  debauchery 
from  its  kitchen  account,  where  is  the  difference — save  that 
the  castle  is  changed  to  a  broker's  office,  and  the  picturesque 
river  to  the  teeming  streets  and  the  broad  fields  of  this 
government  "  of  the  people,  by  the  people,  and  for  the 
people  "  ? 

I  do  not  overstate  the  case.  Economists  have  held  that 
wheat,  grown  everywhere,  could  never  be  cornered  by  capi- 
tal. And  yet  one  man  in  Chicago  tied  the  wheat  crop  in 
his  handkerchief,  and  held  it  until  a  sewing  woman  in  my 
city,  working  for  ninety  cents  a  week,  had  to  pay  him  twenty 
cents  tax  on  the  sack  of  flour  she  bore  home  in  her  famished 
hands.  Three  men  held  the  cotton  until  the  English  spin- 
dles stopped  and  the  lights  went  out  in  three  million  Eng- 
lish homes.  Last  summer  one  man  cornered  pork  until  he 
had  levied  a  tax  of  three  dollars  per  barrel  on  every  con- 
sumer, and  pocketed  a  profit  of  millions.  The  Czar  of 
Russia  would  not  have  dared  to  do  these  things.  And  yet 
they  are  no  secrets  in  this  free  government  of  ours  !  They 
are  known  of  all  men,  and,  my  countrymen,  no  argument 
can  follow  them,  and  no  plea  excuse  them,  when  they  fall  on 
the  men  who,  toiling,  yet  suffer,  who  hunger  at  their  work, 


234          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

and  who  cannot  find  food  for  their  wives  with  which  to 
feed  the  infants  that  hang  famishing  at  their  breasts. 

What  is  the  remedy?  To  exalt  the  hearthstone,  to 
strengthen  the  home,  to  build  up  the  individual,  to  magnify 
and  defend  the  principle  of  local  self-government.  Not  in 
deprecation  of  the  federal  government,  but  to  its  glory  —  not 
to  weaken  the  Republic,  but  to  strengthen  it. 

Let  it  be  understood  in  my  parting  words  to  you  that  I  am 
no  pessimist  as  to  this  Republic.  I  always  bet  on  sunshine 
in  America.  I  know  that  my  country  has  reached  the  point 
of  perilous  greatness  ;  but  I  know  that  beyond  the  utter- 
most glory  is  enthroned  the  Lord  God  Almighty,  and  that 
when  the  hour  of  her  trial  has  come  he  will  lift  up  his  ever- 
lasting gates  and  bend  down  above  her  in  mercy  and  in  love. 

And,  bending  down  humbly  as  Elisha  did,  and  praying 
that  my  eyes  shall  be  made  to  see,  I  catch  the  vision  of 
this  Republic  —  plenty  streaming  from  its  borders,  and  light 
from  its  mountain  tops  —  working  out  its  mission  under 
God's  approving  eye,  until  the  dark  continents  are  opened, 
and  under  one  language,  one  liberty,  and  one  God  all  the 
nations  of  the-world,  hearkening  to  the  American  drumbeat, 
and  girding  up  their  loins,  shall  march  amid  the  breaking  of 
the  millennium  dawn  into  the  paths  of  righteousness  and  of 
peace ! 


THE  NEW  SOUTH. 

HENRY  W.  GRADY. 

A  MASTER  hand  has  drawn  for  you  the  picture  of  your 
returning  armies.  You  have  been  told  how,  in  the  pomp 
and  circumstance  of  war,  they  came  back  to  you,  marching 
with  proud  and  victorious  tread,  reading  their  glory  in  a 


THE    NEW    SOUTH.  235 

nation's  eyes  !  Will  you  bear  with  me  while  I  tell  you  of 
another  army  that  sought  its  home  at  the  close  of  the  late 
war, —  an  army  that  marched  home  in  defeat  and  not  in 
victory,  in  pathos  and  not  in  splendor,  but  in  glory  that 
equaled  yours,  and  to  hearts  as  loving  as  ever  welcomed 
heroes  home  ! 

Let  me  picture  to  you  the  footsore  Confederate  soldier, 
as,  buttoning  up  in  his  faded  gray  jacket  the  parole  which 
was  to  bear  testimony  to  his  children  of  his  fidelity  and 
faith,  he  turned  his  face  southward  from  Appomattox  in 
April,  1865.  Think  of  him  as,  ragged,  half-starved,  heavy- 
hearted,  enfeebled  by  want  and  wounds,  having  fought  to 
exhaustion,  he  surrenders  his  gun,  wrings  the  hands  of  his 
comrades  in  silence,  and,  lifting  his  tear-stained  and  pallid 
face  for  the  last  time  to  the  graves  that  dot  old  Virginia 
hills,  pulls  his  gray  cap  over  his  brow  and  begins  the  slow 
and  painful  journey. 

What  does  he  find  —  let  me  ask  you  —  what  does  he  find 
when,  having  followed  the  battle-stained  cross  against 
overwhelming  odds,  dreading  death  not  half  so  much  as 
surrender,  he  reaches  the  home  he  left  so  prosperous  and 
beautiful  ?  He  finds  his  house  in  ruins,  his  farm  devastated, 
his  slaves  free,  his  stock  killed,  his  barns  empty,  his  trade 
destroyed,  his  money  worthless,  his  social  system,  feudal  in 
its  magnificence,  swept  away,  his  people  without  law  or  legal 
status,  his  comrades  slain,  and  the  burdens  of  others  heavy 
on  his  shoulders.  Crushed  by  defeat,  his  very  traditions 
are  gone.  Without  money,  credit,  employment,  material,  or 
training,  and,  beside  all  this,  confronted  with  the  gravest 
problem  that  ever  met  human  intelligence,  —  the  establishing 
of  a  status  for  the  vast  body  of  his  liberated  slaves. 

What  does  he  do,  this  hero  in  gray  with  a  heart  of  gold  ? 
Does  he  sit  down  in  sullenness  and  despair  ?  Not  for  a 
day.  Surely  God,  who  had  stripped  him  of  his  prosperity, 


236          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

inspired  him  in  his  adversity.  As  ruin  was  never  before  so 
overwhelming,  never  was  restoration  swifter.  The  soldier 
stepped  from  the  trenches  into  the  furrow  ;  horses  that  had 
charged  Federal  guns  marched  before  the  plow ;  and  fields 
that  ran  red  with  human  blood  in  April  were  green  with  the 
harvest  in  June. 

But  what  is  the  sum  of  our  work  ?  We  have  found  out 
that  the  free  negro  counts  more  than  he  did  as  a  slave.  We 
have  planted  the  schoolhouse  on  the  hilltop,  and  made  it 
free  to  white  and  black.  We  have  sowed  towns  and  cities 
in  the  place  of  theories,  and  put  business  above  politics. 

The  new  South  is  enamored  of  her  new  work.  Her  soul  is 
stirred  with  the  breath  of  a  new  life.  The  light  of  a  grander 
day  is  falling  fair  on  her  face.  She  is  thrilling  with  the 
consciousness  of  growing  power  and  prosperity.  As  she 
stands  upright,  full  statured  and  equal,  among  the  people  of 
the  earth,  breathing  the  keen  air  and  looking  out  upon  the 
expanded  horizon,  she  understands  that  her  emancipation 
came  because,  through  the  inscrutable  wisdom  of  God,  her 
honest  purpose  was  crossed  and  her  brave  armies  were 
beaten. 

The  South  has  nothing  for  which  to  apologize.  I  should 
be  unjust  to  the  dauntless  spirit  of  the  South  and  to  my  own 
convictions  if  I  did  not  make  this  plain  in  this  presence. 
The  South  has  nothing  to  take  back.  In  my  native  town  of 
Athens  is  a  monument  that  crowns  its  central  hill  —  a  plain 
white  shaft.  Deep  cut  into  its  shining  side  is  a  name  dear 
to  me  above  the  names  of  men  —  that  of  a  brave  and  simple 
man  who  died  in  brave  and  simple  faith.  Not  for  all  the 
glories  of  New  England,  from  Plymouth  Rock  all  the  way, 
would  I  exchange  the  heritage  he  left  me  in  his  soldier's 
death.  To  the  foot  of  that  I  shall  send  my  children's  children 
to  reverence  him  who  ennobled  their  name  with  his  heroic 
blood. 


THE    NEW    SOUTH.  237 

But,  sir,  speaking  from  the  shadow  of  that  memory  which 
I  honor  as  I  do  nothing  else  on  earth,  I  say  that  the  cause 
in  which  he  suffered  and  for  which  he  gave  his  life  was 
adjudged  by  higher  and  fuller  wisdom  than  his  or  mine, 
and  I  am  glad  that  the  omniscient  God  held  the  balance  of 
battle  in  his  almighty  hand  and  that  human  slavery  was 
swept  forever  from  American  soil,  the  American  Union  was 
saved  from  the  wreck  of  war. 

x^^Now,  what  answer  has  New  England  to  this  message  ? 
Will  she  withhold,  save  in  strained  courtesy,  the  hand  which, 
straight  from  his  soldier's  heart,  Grant  offered  to  Lee  at 
Appomattox  ?  Will  she  make  the  vision  of  a  restored  and 
happy  people  —  which  gathered  above  the  couch  of  your 
dying  captain,  filling  his  heart  with  grace,  touching  his  lips 
with  praise,  and  glorifying  his  path  to  the  grave  —  will  she 
make  this  vision,  on  which  the  last  sigh  of  his  expiring  soul 
breathed  a  benediction,  a  cheat  and  delusion  ?  If  she  does, 
the  South,  never  abject  in  asking  for  comradeship,  must 
accept  with  dignity  its  refusal ;  but  if  she  does  not  refuse  to 
accept  in  frankness  and  sincerity  this  message  of  good  will 
and  friendship,  then  will  the  prophecy  of  Webster,  delivered 
in  this  very  society  forty  years  ago  amid  tremendous  ap- 
plause, be  verified  in  its  fullest  sense  when  he  said :  "  Stand- 
ing hand  to  hand  and  clasping  hands,  we  should  remain 
united  as  we  have  been  for  sixty  years,  citizens  of  the  same 
country,  members  of  the  same  government,  united,  all  united 
now  and  united  forever." 


JAMES   G.  ELAINE. 


THE  DEATH  OF  GARFIELD. 


CHINESE  IMMIGRATION. 


THE  PERMANENCE  OF  GRANT'S  FAME. 


AMERICAN  SHIPBUILDING. 


THE  ELEMENTS  OF  NATIONAL  WEALTH. 


THE  AMNESTY  OF  JEFFERSON  DAVIS. 


THE  DEATH  OF  GARFIELD.  24! 

THE  DEATH  OF  GARFIELD. 

JAMES  G.  ELAINE. 

ON  the  morning  of  Saturday,  July  2,  President  Garfield 
was  a  contented  and  happy  man  —  not  in  an  ordinary  degree, 
but  joyfully,  almost  boyishly  happy.  And  surely,  if  happiness 
can  ever  come  from  the  honors  or  triumphs  of  this  world,  on 
that  quiet  July  morning  Garfield  may  well  have  been  a  happy 
man.  No  foreboding  of  evil  haunted  him  ;  no  premonition 
of  danger  clouded  his  sky.  One  moment  he  stood  erect, 
strong,  confident  in  the  years  stretching  peacefully  out  before 
him.  The  next  he  lay  wounded,  bleeding,  helpless,  doomed 
to  weary  weeks  of  torture,  to  silence,  and  the  grave. 

Great  in  life,  he  was  surpassingly  great  in  death.  For  no 
cause,  in  the  very  frenzy  of  wantonness  and  wickedness,  by 
the  red  hand  of  murder,  he  was  thrust  from  the  full  tide  of 
this  world's  interest,  from  its  hopes,  its  aspirations,  its  victo- 
ries, into  the  visible  presence  of  death  —  and  he  did  not 
quail.  Not  alone  for  the  one  short  moment  in  which,  stunned 
and  dazed,  he  could  give  up  life,  hardly  aware  of  its  relin- 
quishment,  but  through  days  of  deadly  languor,  through  weeks 
of  agony,  that  was  not  less  agony  because  silently  borne,  with 
clear  sight  and  calm  courage,  he  looked  into  his  open  grave. 

What  blight  and  ruin  met  his  anguished  eyes  whose  lips 
may  tell  —  what  brilliant,  broken  plans,  what  baffled,  high 
ambition,  what  sundering  of  household  ties  !  Behind  him  a 
proud,  expectant  nation,  a  great  host  of  sustaining  friends,  a 
cherished  and  happy  mother,  wearing  the  full,  rich  honors  of 
her  early  toil  and  tears  ;  the  wife  of  his  youth,  whose  whole 
life  lay  in  his ;  the  little  boys  not  yet  emerged  from  child- 
hood's day  of  frolic  ;  the  fair  young  daughter ;  the  sturdy  sons, 
just  springing  into  closest  companionship,  claiming  every 
day  and  every  day  rewarding  a  father's  love  and  care  ;  and 


242          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

in  his  heart  the  eager,  rejoicing  power  to  meet  all  demand. 
Before  him  desolation  and  great  darkness  !  And  his  soul 
was  not  shaken. 

As  the  end  drew  near,  his  early  craving  for  the  sea 
returned.  The  stately  mansion  of  power  had  been  to  him 
the  wearisome  hospital  of  pain,  and  he  begged  to  be  taken 
from  its  prison  walls,  from  its  oppressive,  stifling  air,  from 
its  homelessness  and  its  hopelessness.  Gently,  silently,  the 
love  of  a  great  people  bore  the  pale  sufferer  to  the  longed-for 
healing  of  the  sea,  to  live  or  to  die,  as  God  should  will,  within 
sight  of  its  heaving  billows,  within  sound  of  its  manifold 
voices.  With  wan,  fevered  face  tenderly  lifted  to  the  cooling 
breeze,  he  looked  out  wistfully  upon  the  ocean's  changing 
wonders;  on  its  fair  sails,  whitening  in  the  morning  light;  on 
its  restless  waves,  rolling  shoreward  to  break  and  die  beneath 
the  noonday  sun;  on  the  red  clouds  of  evening,  arching  low 
to  the  horizon;  on  the  serene  and  shining  pathway  of  the  stars. 

Let  us  think  that  his  dying  eyes  read  a  mystic  meaning 
which  only  the  rapt  and  parting  soul  may  know.  Let  us 
believe  that  in  the  silence  of  the  receding  world  he  heard  the 
great  waves  breaking  on  a  farther  shore,  and  felt  already 
upon  his  wasted  brow  the  breath  of  the  eternal  morning. 


CHINESE   IMMIGRATION. 

JAMES  G.  BLAINE. 

OUGHT  we  to  exclude  the  Chinese  ?  The  question  lies  in 
my  mind  thus  :  Either  the  Caucasian  race  will  possess  the 
Pacific  slope  or  the  Mongolian  race  will  possess  it.  Give 
Mongolians  the  start  to-day,  with  the  keen  thrust  of  neces- 
sity behind  them,  and  it  is  entirely  probable,  if  not  demon- 


CHINESE    IMMIGRATION.  243 

strable  that,  while  we  are  filling  up  the  other  portions  of  the 
continent,  they  will  occupy  the  great  space  of  country  between 
the  Sierras  and  the  Pacific  coast. 

When  gentlemen  say  that  we  admit  from  all  other  coun- 
tries, where  do  they  find  the  slightest  parallel  ?  The  Asiatic 
cannot  live  with  our  population  and  make  a  homogeneous 
element.  The  idea  of  comparing  European  immigration  with 
an  immigration  that  has  no  regard  to  family,  that  does  not 
feel  in  the  slightest  degree  the  humanizing  and  the  ennobling 
influences  of  the  hearthstone  and  the  fireside !  There  is  not 
a  peasant's  cottage  inhabited  by  a  Chinaman.  There  is  not 
a  hearthstone,  as  it  is  found  and  cherished  in  an  American 
home,  or  an  English  home,  or  a  German  home,  or  a  French 
home;  and  yet  you  say  that  it  is  entirely  safe  to  sit  down  and 
quietly  permit  that  mode  of  life  to  be  fastened  upon  our 
country. 

I  have  heard  much  of  late  about  the  cheap  labor  of  the 
Chinese.  I  do  not  myself  believe  in  cheap  labor.  The 
wealthy  classes,  in  a  Republic  where  suffrage  is  universal, 
must  not  legislate  in  favor  of  cheap  labor.  Labor  should 
not  be  cheap,  and  it  should  not  be  dear  ;  it  should  have  its 
share,  and  it  will  have  its  share.  Then  the  answer  is,  "  But 
are  not  American  laborers  equal  to  Chinese  laborers  ?  "  I 
answer  that  question  by  asking  another.  Were  not  free 
white  American  laborers  equal  to  African  slaves  in  the 
South  ?  When  you  tell  me  that  the  Chinaman  driving  out 
the  free  American  laborer  only  proves  the  superiority  of  the 
Chinaman,  I  ask  you  if  the  African  slave  driving  out  the  free 
white  labor  from  the  South  proved  the  superiority  of  slave 
labor  ?  The  conditions  are  not  unlike ;  the  parallel  is  not 
complete,  and  yet  it  is  a  parallel. 

Chinese  labor  is  servile  labor.  It  is  labor  that  comes  here 
under  a  mortgage.  It  is  labor  that  comes  here  to  subsist  on 
what  the  American  laborer  cannot  subsist  on.  You  cannot 


244         THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

work  a  man  who  must  have  beef  and  bread  in  competition 
with  a  man  who  can  live  on  rice.  In  all  such  conflicts  and 
in  all  such  struggles  the  result  is  not  to  bring  up  the  man 
who  lives  on  rice  to  the  beef  and  bread  standard,  but  it  is 
to  bring  down  the  man  living  on  beef  and  bread  to  the  rice 
standard. 

Slave  labor  degraded  free  labor.  It  took  its  respectability  ; 
it  put  an  odious  caste  upon  it.  It  throttled  the  prosperity 
of  one  of  the  fairest  portions  of  the  Union  ;  and  a  worse  than 
slave  labor  will  throttle  and  impair  the  prosperity  of  a  still 
finer  and  fairer  section  of  the  Union.  We  can  choose  here 
to-day  whether  our  legislation  shall  be  in  the  interest  of  the 
American  free  laborer  or  in  favor  of  the  servile  laborer  from 
China. 


THE  PERMANENCE   OF  GRANT'S   FAME. 

JAMES  G.  ELAINE. 

THE  monopoly  of  fame  by  the  few  in  this  world  comes 
from  an  instinct  of  human  nature.  Heroes  cannot  be  multi- 
plied. The  millions  pass  into  oblivion;  only  the  units  survive. 
Who  aided  the  great  leader  of  Israel  to  conduct  the  chosen 
people  over  the  sands  of  the  desert  and  through  the  waters 
of  the  sea  unto  the  Promised  Land  ?  Who  marched  with 
Alexander  from  the  Bosphorus  to  India  ?  Who  commanded 
the  legions  under  Caesar  in  the  conquest  of  Gaul  ?  Who 
crossed  the  Alps  with  the  Conqueror  of  Italy  ?  Who  fought 
with  Wellington  at  Waterloo  ?  Alas  !  how  soon  it  may  be 
asked,  Who  marched  with  Sherman  from  the  mountain  to  the 
sea  ?  Who  stood  with  Meade  on  the  victorious  field  of 
Gettysburg  ?  Who  went  with  Sheridan  through  the  trials  and 
triumphs  of  the  blood-stained  valley  ? 


THE  PERMANENCE  OF  GRANT  S  FAME.      245 

Napoleon  said:  "The  rarest  attribute  among  generals  is 
two-o'clock-in-the-morning  courage."  "  I  mean,"  he  added, 
"  unprepared  courage,  that  which  is  necessary  on  an  unex- 
pected occasion  and  which,  in  spite  of  the  most  unforeseen 
events,  leaves  full  freedom  of  judgment  and  promptness  of 
decision."  No  better  description  could  be  given  of  the  type 
of  courage  which  distinguished  General  Grant. 

His  constant  readiness  to  fight  was  another  quality  which, 
according  to  the  same  high  authority,  established  his  rank  as  a 
commander.  "  Generals,"  said  the  exile  at  St.  Helena,  "  are 
rarely  found  eager  to  give  battle;  they  choose  their  positions, 
consider  their  combinations,  and  then  indecision  begins." 
"  Nothing,"  added  this  greatest  warrior  of  modern  times, 
"  nothing  is  so  difficult  as  to  decide."  General  Grant,  in  his 
services  in  the  field,  never  once  exhibited  indecision.  This 
was  the  quality  which  gave  him  his  crowning  characteristic 
as  a  military  leader  ;  he  inspired  his  men  with  a  sense  of 
their  invincibility,  and  they  were  thenceforth  invincible  ! 

General  Grant's  name  will  survive  because  it  is  indissolubly 
connected  with  the  greatest  military  and  moral  triumph  in 
the  history  of  his  country.  If  the  armies  of  the  Union  had 
ultimately  failed,  the  vast  and  beneficent  designs  of  Mr. 
Lincoln  would  have  been  frustrated.  General  Grant  would 
then  have  taken  his  place  with  that  long  and  always  increas- 
ing array  of  able  men  who  are  found  wanting  in  the  supreme 
hour  of  trial.  But  a  higher  power  controlled  the  result.  In 
the  reverent  expression  of  Mr.  Lincoln,  "  no  human  counsel 
devised,  nor  did  any  mortal  hand  work  out  these  great 
things."  In  their  accomplishment  these  human  agents  were 
sustained  by  more  than  human  power,  and  through  them 
great  salvation  was  wrought  for  the  land. 

As  long,  therefore,  as  the  American  Union  shall  abide,  with 
its  blessings  of  law  and  liberty,  Grant's  name  shall  be  remem- 
bered with  honor ;  as  long  as  the  slavery  of  human  beings 


246          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

shall  be  abhorred  and  the  freedom  of  man  cherished,  Grant's 
name  shall  be  recalled  with  gratitude ;  and  in  the  cycles  of 
the  future  the  story  of  Lincoln's  life  can  never  be  told 
without  associating  Grant  in  the  enduring  splendor  of  his 
own  fame. 


AMERICAN  SHIPBUILDING. 

JAMES   G.  ELAINE. 

IT  is  a  remarkable  fact  that  for  the  past  twenty-five  years 
the  Congress  of  the  United  States  has  not  done  one  solitary 
thing  to  uphold  the  navigation  interests  of  the  United  States. 
Decay  has  been  observed  going  steadily  on  from  year  to 
year.  During  these  years,  in  which  Congress  has  not 
stepped  forward  to  do  one  thing  for  the  carrying  trade  of  the 
country,  the  same  Congress  has  passed  ninety-two  acts  in 
aid  of  international  transportation  by  rail.  It  has  given  two 
hundred  million  acres  of  the  public  lands,  worth  to-day  a 
thousand  million  dollars  in  money,  and  has  added  seventy 
million  dollars  in  cash,  and  yet  it  has  scarcely  extended  the 
aid  of  a  single  dollar  to  build  up  our  foreign  commerce. 

An  energetic  and  able  man  who  found  a  great  ocean  high- 
way unoccupied,  and  had  the  enterprise  to  put  American 
vessels  of  the  best  construction  and  great  power  upon  it, 
has  been  held  up  to  scorn  and  to  reproach  because  he  came 
to  the  American  Congress  and  said :  "  If  you  will  do  for  this 
enterprise  what  the  emperor  of  Brazil  will  do,  —  pay  a  hun- 
dred thousand  dollars  a  year,  —  I  will  give  you  a  great  line 
of  steamships  from  New  York  to  Rio  Janeiro." 

But  New  England  senators,  I  regret  to  say,  remarked  with 
quiet  complacency :  "  If  Brazil  is  willing  to  pay  for  the  line, 
we  need  not."  Just  as  soon  as  it  was  found  that  we  would 


AMERICAN    SHIPBUILDING.  247 

not  pay  a  combination  of  English  shipbuilders  said  :  "We 
will  put  on  our  ships  and  run  that  American  line  off  ;  we 
will  carry  the  coffee  of  Brazil  to  the  United  States  for  noth- 
ing ;  we  will  break  down  this  attempt  of  the  United  States 
to  begin  a  race  upon  the  ocean  ;  "  and  have  they  not  pretty 
nearly  succeeded  ? 

Great  Britain  has  been  our  great  commercial  rival.  How 
has  she  succeeded  ?  Since  the  first  Cunard  steamship  sailed 
into  Boston  Harbor,  now  about  forty  years  ago,  Great  Britain 
has  paid  from  her  treasury  to  aid  her  steamship  lines  a  sum 
exceeding  forty  million  pounds  sterling,  —  more  than  two 
hundred  millions  of  American  dollars.  Last  year  France 
paid  twenty-three  million  francs  —  more  than  four  and  a 
half  million  dollars,  —  to  aid  her  steamship  lines.  Italy, 
hemmed  in  upon  the  Mediterranean,  with  a  territory  that 
does  not  touch  either  of  the  great  oceans,  paid  last  year  one 
million  six  hundred  thousand  dollars  to  her  lines.  Even 
Austria,  that  enjoys  but  a  single  seaport  on  the  upper  end 
of  the  Adriatic,  pays  five  hundred  thousand  dollars  toward 
stimulating  commercial  ventures  from  Trieste. 

The  United  States  cannot  succeed  in  this  great  inter- 
national struggle  without  adopting  exactly  the  same  mode 
that  has  achieved  victory  for  other  countries.  Let  the 
American  merchants,  then,  feel  that  the  government  of  the 
United  States  is  behind  them.  Let  the  United  States  take 
from  her  treasury  per  annum  the  four  millions  of  dollars  that 
Great  Britain  is  paying  as  a  postscript  to  her  two  hundred 
million  dollars  of  investment  —  and  that  is  not  a  great  sum 
for  this  opulent  country  —  let  that  be  used  as  a  fund  to 
stimulate  steamship  companies  from  any  port  of  the  United 
States  to  any  foreign  port  on  the  globe,  and  I  venture  to 
predict  that  you  will  see  that  long-deferred,  much-desired 
event,  the  revival  of  the  American  merchant  marine. 


248  THE    NEW    CENTURY    SPEAKER. 

THE  ELEMENTS  OF  NATIONAL  WEALTH. 

JAMES  G.  ELAINE. 

THE  territory  which  we  occupy  is  at  least  three  million 
square  miles  in  extent,  within  a  fraction  as  large  as  the 
whole  of  Europe.  The  state  of  Texas  alone  is  equal  in  area 
to  the  empire  of  France  and  the  kingdom  of  Portugal  united; 
and  yet  these  two  monarchies  support  a  population  of  forty 
millions,  while  Texas  has  but  six  hundred  thousand  inhabi- 
tants. The  land  that  is  still  in  the  hands  of  government, 
not  sold  or  even  preempted,  amounts  to  a  thousand  million 
of  acres,  —  an  extent  of  territory  thirteen  times  as  large  as 
Great  Britain,  and  equal  in  area  to  all  the  kingdoms  of 
Europe,  Russia  and  Turkey  alone  excepted. 

Combined  with  this  great  expanse  of  territory,  we  have 
facilities  for  the  acquisition  and  consolidation  of  wealth  — 
varied,  magnificent,  immeasurable.  The  single  state  of 
Illinois,  cultivated  to  its  capacity,  can  produce  as  large  a 
crop  of  cereals  as  has  ever  been  grown  within  the  limits  of 
the  United  States,  while  Texas,  if  peopled  but  half  as 
densely  as  Maryland  even,  could  give  an  annual  return  of 
cotton  larger  than  the  largest  that  has  ever  been  grown  in 
all  the  Southern  states  combined. 

Our  facilities  for  commerce  and  exchange,  both  domestic 
and  foreign  —  who  shall  measure  them  ?  Our  oceans,  our 
vast  inland  seas,  our  marvelous  flow  of  navigable  streams, 
our  canals,  our  network  of  railroads  more  than  thirty  thou- 
sand miles  in  extent  —  these  give  us  avenues  of  trade  and 
channels  of  communication  both  natural  and  artificial  such 
as  no  other  nation  has  ever  enjoyed.  Our  mines  of  gold 
and  silver  and  iron  and  copper  and  lead  and  coal,  with  their 
untold  and  unimaginable  wealth,  spread  over  millions  of 
acres  of  territory,  in  the  valley,  on  the  mountain  side,  along 


THE    AMNESTY    OF    JEFFERSON    DAVIS.  249 

rivers,  yielding  already  a  rich  harvest,  are  destined  yet  to 
increase  a  thousandfold,  until  their  everyday  treasures, 

.     .     .     familiar  grown, 
Shall  realize  Orient's  fabled  dream. 

These  are  the  great  elements  of  material  progress,  and 
they  comprehend  the  entire  circle  of  human  enterprise,  — 
agriculture,  commerce,  manufactures,  mining.  They  give 
into  our  hands,  under  the  blessing  of  Almighty  God,  the 
power  to  command  our  fate  as  a  nation.  They  hold  out  to 
us  the  grandest  future  reserved  for  any  people  ;  and  with 
this  promise  they  teach  us  the  lesson  of  patience,  and  render 
confidence  and  fortitude  a  duty. 

With  such  amplitude  and  affluence  of  resources,  and  with 
such  a  vast  stake  at  issue,  we  should  be  unworthy  of  our 
lineage  and  our  inheritance  if  we  for  one  moment  distrusted 
our  ability  to  maintain  ourselves  a  united  people,  with  "  one 
country,  one  constitution,  one  destiny." 


THE  AMNESTY  OF  JEFFERSON  DAVIS. 

JAMES  G.  ELAINE. 

EVERY  time  the  question  of  amnesty  has  been  introduced, 
it  has  been  done  with  a  certain  flourish  of  magnanimity 
which  seemed  to  convey  an  imputation  on  this  side  of  the 
House.  It  seemed  to  charge  the  Republican  party,  which 
has  been  in  control  of  the  government  for  the  last  fifteen 
years,  with  being  bigoted,  narrow,  and  illiberal. 

I  entered  Congress  while  the  hot  flame  of  war  was  yet 
raging,  when  the  Union  was  rocking  to  its  foundations,  and 
when  no  man  knew  whether  we  were  to  have  a  country  or 


2SO          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

not.  I  should  have  been  surprised  indeed  had  I  been  told 
that  I  should  see  sixty-one  gentlemen  who  were  then  in 
arms  against  us  admitted  to  the  privileges  of  membership 
in  this  body,  and  all  by  the  grace  and  magnanimity  of  the 
Republican  party. 

When  the  war  ended,  according  to  the  universal  usage  of 
nations,  the  government,  then  under  the  exclusive  control  of 
the  Republican  party,  had  the  right  to  determine  what 
should  be  the  political  status  of  the  people  who  had  suffered 
defeat.  Did  the  Republicans,  with  full  power  in  their  hands, 
inaugurate  any  measure  of  persecution  ?  Did  they  set  forth 
on  a  career  of  bloodshed  and  vengeance  ?  Did  they  take 
the  property  of  the  Southern  people  who  had  rebelled  ?  Did 
they  deprive  any  man  of  his  civil  rights  ?  Not  at  all.  The 
disability  did  not  apply  to  the  hundreds  of  thousands  —  or 
millions,  if  you  please  —  who  had  been  engaged  in  the 
attempt  to  destroy  this  government.  It  held  under  dis- 
ability only  those  who,  in  joining  the  rebellion,  had  violated 
a  special  and  personal  oath  to  support  the  Constitution  of 
the  United  States. 

In  my  amendment,  Mr.  Speaker,  I  have  excepted  Jeffer- 
son Davis  from  amnesty.  I  do  not  place  his  exclusion  on 
the  ground  that  he  was,  as  he  has  been  commonly  called, 
the  head  and  front  of  the  rebellion.  But  I  except  him  on 
this  ground :  that  he  was  the  responsible  author,  knowingly, 
deliberately,  guiltily,  of  the  great  crime  of  Andersonville. 

Since  this  bill  was  introduced  last  month,  I  have  taken 
occasion  to  re-read  some  of  the  historic  cruelties  of  the  world. 
I  have  read  once  more  the  details  of  those  atrocious  murders 
by  the  Duke  of  Alva  in  the  Low  Countries,  which  are  always 
mentioned  with  a  thrill  of  horror  throughout  Christendom. 
I  have  refreshed  my  memory  with  the  details  of  the  massa- 
cre of  Saint  Bartholomew,  that  stands  out  in  history  as 
another  of  those  atrocities  beyond  imagination.  I  have 


THE    AMNESTY    OF    JEFFERSON    DAVIS.  2$  I 

read  anew  the  horrors  of  the  Spanish  Inquisition.  But 
neither  the  deeds  of  the  Duke  of  Alva  in  the  Low  Countries, 
nor  the  massacre  of  Saint  Bartholomew,  rior  the  thumb- 
screws of  the  Spanish  Inquisition,  surpass  the  hideous  crime 
of  Andersonville. 

"  Into  its  narrow  walls  were  crowded  thirty-five  thousand 
enlisted  men,  many  of  them  the  bravest  and  best,  the  most 
devoted  and  heroic  of  those  grand  armies  which  carried  the 
flag  of  their  country  to  final  vrctory.  For  long  and  weary 
months  here  they  suffered,  maddened,  died.  Here  they  lin- 
gered, unsheltered  from  the  burning  rays  of  a  tropical  sun 
by  day,  and  drenching  and  deadly  dews  by  night,  hungered, 
emaciated,  starving,  festering  with  unhealed  wounds,  gnawed 
by  the  ravages  of  scurvy  and  gangrene.  These  men,  these 
heroes,  born  in  the  image  of  God,  thus  crouching  and  writh- 
ing in  their  terrible  torture  and  calculating  barbarity,  stand 
forth  in  history  as  a  monument  of  the  surpassing  horrors  of 
Andersonville,  realizing  in  the  studied  torments  of  their 
prison  house  the  ideal  of  Dante's  '  Inferno '  and  Milton's 
'  Hell.'  " 

Mr.  Speaker,  I  do  not  desire  to  go  into  such  horrible 
details  as  these  for  any  purpose  of  arousing  bad  feeling.  I 
wish  only  to  say  that  the  man  who  administered  the  affairs 
of  that  prison  went  there  by  order  of  Mr.  Davis,  and  was 
sustained  by  him.  I  only  see  before  me,  when  his  name  is 
presented,  a  man  who  by  a  wave  of  his  hand,  by  a  nod  of 
his  head,  could  have  put  an  end  to  the  atrocious  cruelties  at 
Andersonville  ! 

Some  of  us  had  kinsmen  there,  many  of  us  had  friends 
there,  all  of  us  had  countrymen  there.  In  the  name  of  those 
kinsmen,  friends,  and  countrymen,  I  here  protest,  and  shall 
with  my  vote  protest,  against  calling  back  and  crowning  with 
the  honors  of  full  American  citizenship  the  man  who  stands 
responsible  for  that  organized  murder. 


JAMES    A.  GARFIELD. 


253 


GENERAL  THOMAS  AT  CHICKAMAUGA. 


AN  APPEAL  TO  YOUNG  MEN. 


IMMORTALITY  OF  TRUE  PATRIOTISM. 


MACAULAY'S  PROPHECY. 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN. 


THE  GRAVES  OF  UNION  SOLDIERS  AT  ARLINGTON. 


254 


GENERAL  THOMAS  AT  CHICKAMAUGA.       255 

GENERAL  THOMAS  AT  CHICKAMAUGA. 

JAMES  A.  GARFIELD. 

To  General  Thomas  a  battle  was  neither  an  earthquake, 
nor  a  volcano,  nor  a  chaos  of  brave  men  and  frantic  horses 
involved  in  vast  explosions  of  gunpowder.  It  was  rather  a 
calm,  rational  concentration  of  force  against  force.  It  was 
a  question  of  lines  and  positions  —  of  weight  of  metal  and 
strength  of  battalions.  His  remark  to  a  captain  of  artillery 
while  inspecting  a  battery  exhibits  his  theory  of  success  : 
"  Keep  everything  in  order,  for  the  fate  of  a  battle  may  turn 
on  a  buckle  or  a  linchpin." 

It  was  most  natural  that  such  a  man  should  be  placed  in 
the  center  of  movements.  From  the  autumn  of  1862  till  the 
autumn  of  1864 —  from  Bowling  Green  to  Atlanta  —  whether 
commanding  a  division,  a  corps,  or  an  army,  his  position  on 
the  march  and  his  post  in  battle  was  the  center.  And  he 
was  placed  there  because  it  was  found  that,  when  his  com- 
mand occupied  the  center,  that  center  could  not  be  broken. 
It  never  was  broken.  At  Stone  River,  as  the  eye  of  Rose- 
crans  swept  over  that  bloody  field,  it  always  rested  on 
Thomas  as  the  center  of  his  hope.  For  five  days  Thomas' 
command  stood  fighting  in  their  bloody  tracks,  until  twenty 
per  cent  of  their  members  were  killed  or  wounded,  and  the 
enemy  had  retreated. 

But  it  was  reserved  for  the  last  day  at  Chickamauga  to 
exhibit,  in  one  supreme  example,  the  vast  resources  of  his 
prodigious  strength.  After  a  day  of  heavy  fighting  and  a 
night  of  anxious  preparation,  General  Rosecrans  had  estab- 
lished his  lines  for  the  purpose  of  holding  the  road  to  Chat- 
tanooga. This  road  was  to  be  the  prize  of  that  day's  battle. 
The  substance  of  his  order  to  Thomas  was  this  :  "  Your  line 
lies  across  the  road  to  Chattanooga.  That  is  the  pivot  of 


256          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

the  battle.  Hold  it  at  all  hazards,  and  I  will  reenforce  you, 
if  necessary,  with  the  whole  army." 

During  the  whole  night,  the  reinforcements  of  the  enemy 
were  coming  in.  Early  next  morning  we  were  attacked 
along  the  whole  line.  Thomas  commanded  the  left  and 
center  of  our  army.  From  early  morning  he  withstood  the 
furious  and  repeated  attacks  of  the  enemy,  who  constantly 
reenforced  his  assaults  on  our  left.  About  noon  our  whole 
right  wing  was  broken,  and  driven  in  hopeless  confusion 
from  the  field.  Rosecrans  was  himself  swept  away  in  the 
tide  of  retreat.  The  forces  of  Longstreet,  which  had  broken 
our  right,  desisted  from  the  pursuit,  and,  forming  in  heavy 
columns,  assaulted  Thomas'  right  flank  with  unexampled 
fury.  Seeing  the  approaching  danger,  he  threw  back  his 
exposed  flank  toward  the  base  of  the  mountain  and  met  the 
new  peril. 

While  men  shall  read  the  history  of  battles,  they  will 
never  fail  to  study  and  admire  the  work  of  Thomas  during 
that  afternoon.  With  but  twenty-five  thousand  men,  formed 
in  a  semicircle  of  which  he  himself  was  the  center  and  soul, 
he  successfully  resisted  for  more  than  five  hours  the  repeated 
assaults  of  an  army  of  sixty-five  thousand  men,  flushed  with 
victory  and  bent  on  his  annihilation.  Toward  the  close  of 
the  day  his  ammunition  began  to  fail.  One  by  one  his 
division  commanders  reported  but  ten  rounds,  five  rounds, 
or  two  rounds  left.  The  calm,  quiet  answer  was  returned : 
"  Save  your  fire  for  close  quarters,  and  when  your  last  shot 
is  fired  give  them  the  bayonet."  When  night  had  closed 
over  the  combatants,  the  last  sound  of  battle  was  the  boom- 
ing of  Thomas'  shells  bursting  among  his  baffled  and 
retreated  assailants. 

He  was,  indeed,  the  "  Rock  of  Chickamauga,"  against 
which  the  wild  waves  of  battle  dashed  in  vain.  It  will  stand 
written  forever  in  the  annals  of  his  country  that  there  he 


ADVICE    TO    YOUNG    MEN.  2 57 

saved  from  destruction  the  Army  of  the  Cumberland.  He 
held  the  road  to  Chattanooga.  The  campaign  was  success- 
ful. The  gate  of  the  mountains  was  ours. 


AN  APPEAL  TO  YOUNG  MEN. 

JAMES  A.  GARFIELD. 

I  HEARD  a  very  brilliant  thing  said  the  other  day  by  a  boy 
up  in  one  of  our  northwestern  counties.  He  said  to  me  : 
"  General,  I  have  a  great  mind  to  vote  the  Democratic 
ticket."  Well  !  that  was  not  the  brilliant  thing.  I  said  to 
him  :  "  Why  ?  "  "  W7hy,"  said  he,  "  my  father  is  a  Repub- 
lican, and  my  brothers  are  Republicans,  and  I  am  a  Republi- 
can all  over ;  but  I  don't  want  anybody  to  say:  '  That  fellow 
votes  the  Republican  ticket  just  because  his  dad  does/  and 
so  I  have  a  mind  to  vote  the  Democratic  ticket  just  to  prove 
my  independence."  I  did  not  like  the  thing  the  boy  sug- 
gested, but  I  do  admire  the  spirit  of  a  boy  who  wants  some 
independence. 

Now,  I  tell  you,  young  man,  do  not  vote  the  Republican 
ticket  just  because  your  father  votes  it.  Do  not  vote  the 
Democratic  ticket  even  if  he  does  vote  it.  But  let  me  give 
you  this  one  word  of  advice  as  you  are  about  to  pitch  your 
tent  in  one  of  the  great  political  camps.  Your  young  life  is 
full  and  buoyant  with  hope  now,  and  I  beg  you,  when  you 
pitch  your  tent,  pitch  it  among  the  living,  and  not  among 
the  dead. 

If  you  are  at  all  inclined  to  pitch  it  among  the  Democratic 
people,  let  me  go  with  you  for  a  moment  while  we  survey 
the  ground  where  I  hope  you  will  not  shortly  lie.  It  is  a 
sad  place,  young  man,  for  you  to  put  your  young  life.  It  is 


258          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

to  me  far  more  like  a  graveyard  than  a  camp  for  the  living. 
Look  at  it !  It  is  billowed  all  over  with  the  graves  of  dead 
issues,  buried  opinions,  exploded  theories,  and  disgraced  doc- 
trines. You  cannot  live  in  comfort  in  such  a  place. 

Why  !  Look  here  !  Here  is  a  little  double  mound,  and 
I  look  down  on  it  and  I  read  :  "  Sacred  to  the  memory  of 
Squatter  Sovereignty  and  the  Dred  Scot  Decision."  A  mil- 
lion and  a  half  of  Democrats  voted  for  that ;  but  it  has  been 
dead  fifteen  years  —  dead  by  the  hand  of  Abraham  Lincoln 
—  and  here  it  lies. 

But  look  a  little  farther  !  Here  is  another  monument,  a 
black  tomb,  and  beside  it  there  towers  to  the  sky  a  monu- 
ment of  four  million  pairs  of  human  fetters,  taken  from  the 
arms  of  slaves;  and  I  read  on  its  little  headpiece  this: 
"  Sacred  to  the  memory  of  human  slavery."  For  forty  years 
of  its  infamous  life  the  Democratic  party  taught  that  it  was 
divine,  God's  institution.  They  defended  it,  they  stood 
around  it,  they  followed  it  to  its  grave  as  a  mourner.  But 
here  it  lies,  dead  by  the  power  of  the  Republican  party, 
dead  by  the  justice  of  Almighty  God. 

But  here  is  another,  a  little  brimstone  tomb,  and  I  read 
across  its  yellow  face  in  lurid,  bloody  lines  these  words  : 
"Sacred  to  the  memory  of  State  Sovereignty  and  Secession." 
Twelve  millions  of  Democrats  mustered  around  it  in  arms  to 
keep  it  alive.  But  here  it  lies,  shot  to  death  by  the  million 
guns  of  the  Republic.  Its  shrine  burnt  to  ashes  under  the 
blazing  rafters  of  the  defeated  Confederacy.  Oh,  young 
man,  come  out  of  that  camp  !  That  is  no  place  in  which  to 
put  your  young  life.  Come  out,  and  come  over  into  this 
camp  of  liberty,  of  order,  of  law,  of  justice,  of  freedom,  of 
all  that  is  glorious  under  these  night  stars. 

But  is  there  no  death  here  in  our  camp  ?  Yes !  Yes  ! 
Three  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  soldiers,  the  noblest  band 
that  ever  trod  the  earth,  died  to  make  this  camp  a  camp  of 


'    IMMORTALITY    OF    TRUE    PATRIOTISM.  259 

glory  and  of  liberty  forever.  But  there  are  no  dead  issues 
here.  There  are  no  dead  ideas  here.  Hang  out  our  banner 
under  the  blue  sky,  until  it  shall  sweep  the  turf  under  your 
feet !  Read  away  up  under  the  stars  this  inscription  which 
we  have  written  on  it,  lo  !  these  twenty-five  years.  What  is 
it  ?  Human  slavery  shall  never  extend  another  foot  over 
the  territories  of  the  great  West.  Is  that  dead  or  alive  ? 
Alive  !  thank^God,  forevermore.  Truer  now  than  it  was  the 
hour  it  was  written.  Then  it  was  a  hope,  a  promise,  a  pur- 
pose. Now  it  is  equal  with  the  stars  —  immortal  history 
and  immortal  truth. 

Follow  the  glorious  steps  of  our  banner.  Every  record 
that  we  have  made  we  have  vindicated  with  our  blood  and 
with  our  truth.  It  sweeps  the  ground,  and  it  touches  the 
stars.  Come  here,  young  man,  and  put  in  your  young  life 
where  all  is  living,  and  where  nothing  is  dead  but  the  heroes 
that  defended  it. 


IMMORTALITY  OF  TRUE  PATRIOTISM. 

JAMES  A.  GARFIELD. 

FOR  nearly  fifty  years  no  spot  in  any  of  these  states  had 
been  the  scene  of  battle.  But  as  a  flash  of  lightning  in  a 
midnight  tempest  reveals  the  abysmal  horrors  of  the  sea,  so 
did  the  flash  of  the  first  gun  disclose  the  awful  abyss  into 
which  rebellion  was  ready  to  plunge  us.  In  a  moment  the 
fire  was  lighted  in  twenty  million  hearts.  In  a  moment  we 
were  the  most  warlike  nation  on  the  earth.  In  a  moment 
we  were  not  merely  a  people  with  an  army  —  we  were  a 
people  in  arms.  The  nation  was  in  column  —  not  all  at  the 
front,  but  all  in  the  array. 


26O         THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

I  love  to  believe  that  no  heroic  sacrifice  is  ever  lost  ;  that 
treasured  up  in  American  souls  are  all  the  unconscious  influ- 
ences of  the  great  deeds  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  race,  from 
Agincourt  to  Bunker  Hill.  It  was  such  an  influence  that 
led  a  young  Greek,  two  thousand  years  ago,  when  musing 
on  the  Battle  of  Marathon,  to  exclaim  :  "  The  trophies  of 
Miltiades  will  not  let  me  sleep  !  "  Could  these  men  be 
silent  in  1861,  — these  whose  ancestors  had  felt  the  inspira- 
tion of  battle  on  every  field  where  civilization  had  fought  in 
the  last  thousand  years  ?  Read  their  answer  in  this  green 
turf.  Each  for  himself  gathered  up  the  cherished  purposes 
of  life,  —  its  aims  and  ambitions,  its  dearest  affections, — 
and  flung  all,  with  life  itself,  into  the  scale  of  battle. 
\AVe  began  the  war  for  the  Union  alone  ;  but  we  had  not 
gone  far  into  its  darkness  before  a  new  element  was  added 
to  the  conflict,  which  filled  the  army  and  the  nation  with 
cheerful  but  intense  religious  enthusiasm.  In  lessons  that 
could  not  be  misunderstood  the  nation  was  taught  that  God 
had  linked  to  our  own  the  destiny  of  an  enslaved  race  —  that 
their  liberty  and  our  Union  were  indeed  "  one  and  insepara- 
ble." It  was  this  that  made  the  soul  of  John  Brown  the 
marching  companion  of  our  soldiers,  and  made  them  sing  as 
they  went  down  to  battle  : 

In  the  beauty  of  the  lilies  Christ  was  born,  across  the  sea, 
With  a  glory  in  his  bosom  that  transfigures  you  and  me  ; 
As  he  died  to  make  men  holy,  let  us  die  to  make  men  free, 
While  God  is  marching  on. 

The  struggle  consecrated,  in  some  degree,  every  man  who 
bore  a  worthy  part.  I  can  never  forget  an  incident  illustra- 
tive of  this  thought  which  it  was  my  fortune  to  witness,  near 
sunset  of  the  second  day  at  Chickamauga,  when  the  belea- 
guered but  unbroken  left  wing  of  our  army  had  again  and 
again  repelled  the  assaults  of  more  than  double  their  num- 


MACAULAY'S  PROPHECY.         261 

bers,  and  when  each  soldier  felt  that  to  his  individual  hands 
were  committed  the  life  of  the  army  and  the  honor  of  his 
country. 

It  was  just  after  a  division  had  fired  its  last  cartridge  and 
had  repelled  a  charge  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet  that  the 
great-hearted  commander  took  the  hand  of  an  humble  sol- 
dier and  thanked  him  for  his  steadfast  courage.  The 
soldier  stood  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then  said  with  deep 
emotion  :  "  George  H.  Thomas  has  taken  this  hand  in  his. 
I  '11  knock  down  any  mean  man  that  offers  to  take  it  here- 
after." This  rough  sentence  was  full  of  meaning.  He  felt 
that  something  had  touched  that  hand  which  consecrated  it. 
Could  a  hand  bear  our  banner  in  battle  and  not  be  forever 
consecrated  to  honor  and  virtue  ?  But  doubly  consecrated 
were  these  who  received  into  their  own  hearts  the  fatal  shafts 
aimed  at  the  life  of  their  country. 

Fortunate  men  !  your  country  lives  because  you  died  ! 
Your  fame  is  placed  where  the  breath  of  calumny  can  never 
reach  it,  where  the  mistakes  of  a  weary  life  can  never  dim 
its  brightness  !  Coming  generations  will  rise  up  to  call  you 
blessed  ! 


MACAULAY'S  PROPHECY. 

JAMES  A.  GARFIELD. 

ONE  of  the  ablest  writers  that  England  ever  produced, 
one  whose  name  is  honored  in  America,  has  given  his 
reasons  for  believing  that  our  Republic  must  fall. 

"The  day  will  come,"  he  says,  "  when,  in  the  state  of  New 
York,  a  multitude  of  people,  none  of  whom  has  had  more 
than  half  a  breakfast  or  expects  to  have  more  than  half  a 
dinner,  will  choose  a  legislature.  Is  it  possible  to  doubt 


262          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

what  sort  of  a  legislature  will  be  chosen  ?  On  one  side  is  a 
statesman  preaching  patience,  respect  for  vested  rights, 
strict  observance  of  public  faith  ;  on  the  other  is  a  dema- 
gogue ranting  about  the  tyranny  of  capitalists  and  usurers, 
and  asking  why  anybody  should  be  permitted  to  drink  cham- 
pagne and  to  ride  in  a  carriage,  while  thousands  of  honest 
folks  are  in  want  of  necessaries.  Which  of  the  two  candi- 
dates is  likely  to  be  preferred  by  a  workingman  who  hears 
his  children  cry  for  more  bread  ? 

#         #         *         #         #         * 

"  Either  some  Caesar  or  Napoleon  will  seize  the  reins  of 
government  with  a  strong  hand,  or  your  Republic  will  be  as 
fearfully  plundered  and  laid  waste  by  barbarians  in  the 
twentieth  century  as  the  Roman  Empire  in  the  fifth  —  with 
this  difference,  that  the  Huns  and  Vandals  who  ravaged  the 
Roman  Empire  came  from  without,  and  that  your  Huns  and 
Vandals  will  have  been  engendered  within  your  country  by 
your  own  institutions." 

This  is  Macaulay's  indictment  and  prophecy.  I  ask  you 
to  carry  it  home  and  reflect  upon  it.  How  shall  we  answer 
it  ?  For  myself,  with  all  my  soul  I  repel  the  prophecy  as 
false.  But  why  ?  Because  here  there  is  no  need  for  the  Old 
World  war  between  capital  and  labor.  Here  is  no  need  of 
the  explosion  of  social  order  predicted  by  Macaulay.  All 
we  need  is  the  protection  of  just  and  equal  laws  —  just  alike 
to  labor  and  to  capital.  Every  poor  man  hopes  to  lay  by 
something  for  a  rainy  day,  —  hopes  to  become  a  capitalist, 
for  capital  is  only  accumulated  labor. 

Here  also  are  no  classes  with  barriers  fixed  and  impassa- 
ble. Here,  in  our  society,  permeated  with  the  light  of 
American  freedom,  there  is  no  American  boy,  however  poor, 
however  humble,  orphan  though  he  may  be,  who,  if  he  have 
a  clear  head,  a  true  heart,  a  strong  arm,  may  not  rise  through 
all  the  grades  of  society,  and  become  the  crown,  the  glory, 


ABRAHAM    LINCOLN.  263 

the  pillar  of  the  state.  There  is  another  answer  to  Macaulay. 
He  could  not  understand —  no  man  can  understand  it  until 
he  has  seen  it  —  the  almost  omnipotent  power  of  our  system 
of  education,  which  teaches  our  people  how  to  be  free  by 
teaching  them  to  be  intelligent. 

But  who  has  read  Macaulay's  letter  that  did  not  remem- 
ber it  a  year  ago  last  July,  when  in  ten  great  states  of  the 
Union  millions  of  American  citizens  and  millions  of  Ameri- 
can property  were  in  peril  of  destruction,  when  the  mob 
spirit  ran  riot,  when  Pittsburg  flamed  in  ruin  and  smoked  in 
blood,  and  many  of  our  great  cities  were  in  peril  of  destruc- 
tion —  who  did  not  remember  the  prediction  of  Macaulay 
then,  and  did  not  anew  resolve  that  the  bloody  track  of  the 
Commune  should  have  no  pathway  on  our  shore  ? 

I  have  introduced  all  this  for  the  purpose  of  saying  that 
behind  the  element  that  now  attacks  the  public  faith  — 
behind  it  and  preparing  the  movement  —  is  Communism, 
coming  from  its  dens  in  Europe  and  this  country.  We  believe 
the  hearts  of  true  Americans  everywhere  will  respond  to  the 
right,  when  they  know  the  right.  But  to  the  disturbers  of 
law,  to  those  who  would  break  the  peace  of  this  Republic,  to 
those  who  would  convert  it  into  a  huge  anarchy,  we  say  the 
true  men  of  this  Union  who  put  down  rebellion  in  one  place 
will  put  rebellion  down  in  every  place. 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN. 

JAMES  A.  GARFIELD. 

IN  the  great  drama  of  the  rebellion  there  were  two  acts. 
The  first  was  the  war,  with  its  battles  and  sieges,  its  victories 
and  defeats,  its  sufferings  and  tears.  Just  as  the  curtain  was 
lifting  on  the  second  and  final  act,  the  restoration  of  peace 


264          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

and  liberty,  the  evil  spirit  of  the  rebellion,  in  the  fury  of 
despair,  nerved  and  directed  the  hand  of  an  assassin  to  strike 
down  the  chief  character  in  both.  It  was  no  one  man  who 
killed  Abraham  Lincoln ;  it  was  the  embodied  spirit  of 
treason  and  slavery,  inspired  with  fearful  and  despairing 
hate,  that  struck  him  down  in  the  moment  of  the  nation's 
supremest  joy. 

Sir,  there  are  times  in  the  history  of  men  and  nations 
when  they  stand  so  near  the  veil  that  separates  mortals  from 
the.  immortals,  time  from  eternity,  and  men  from  God  that 
they  can  almost  hear  the  beatings  and  pulsations  of  the 
heart  of  the  Infinite.  Through  such  a  time  has  this  nation 
passed. 

When  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  brave  spirits  passed 
from  Jthe  field  of  honor,  through  that  thin  veil,  to  the  presence 
of  Ggd,  and  when  at  last  its  parting  folds  admitted  the 
martyr  president  to  the  company  of  those  dead  heroes  of  the 
Republic,  the  nation  stood  so  near  the  veil  that  the  whispers 
of  God  were  heard  by  the  children  of  men.  Awe-stricken  by 
his  voice,  the  American  people  knelt  in  tearful  reverence 
and  made  a  solemn  covenant  with  him  and  with  each  other 
that  this  nation  should  be  saved  from  its  enemies,  that  all  its 
glories  ^hould  be  restored,  and,  on  the  ruins  of  slavery  and 
treason,  the  temples  of  freedom  and  justice  should  be  built, 
and  shauld  survive  forever. 

It  reniains  for  us,  consecrated  by  that  great  event  and 
under  a  covenant  with  God,  to  keep  that  faith,  to  go  forward 
in  the  great  work  until  it  shall  be  completed.  Following  the 
lead  of  that  great  man,  and  obeying  the  high  behests  of  God, 
let  us  remember  that: 

He  has  sounded  forth  the  trumpet  that  shall  never  call  retreat ; 
He  is  sifting  out  the  hearts  of  men  before  his  judgment  seat ; 
Oh,  be  swift,  my  soul,  to  answer  him  !  be  jubilant,  my  feet! 
Our  God  is  marching  on. 


GRAVES    "OF    UNION    SOLDIERS    AT    ARLINGTON.       26§ 

THE  GRAVES   OF   UNION   SOLDIERS   AT  ARLINGTON. 

JAMES  A.  GARFIELD. 

THE  view  from  this  spot  bears  some  resemblance  to  that 
which  greets  the  eye  at  Rome.  In  sight  of  the  Capitoline 
Hill,  up  and  across  the  Tiber,  and  overlooking  the  city,  is  a 
hill,  not  rugged  nor  lofty,  but  known  as  the  Vatican  Mount. 
At  the  beginning  of  the  Christian  era  an  imperial  circus 
stood  on  its  summit.  There  gladiator  slaves  died  for  the 
sport  of  Rome,  and  wild  beasts  fought  with  wilder  men. 
There  a  Galilean  fisherman  gave  up  his  life  a  sacrifice  for 
his  faith. 

No  human  life  was  ever  so  nobly  avenged.  On  that  spot 
was  reared  the  proudest  Christian  temple  ever  built  by 
human  hands.  As  the  traveler  descends  the  Apennines,  he 
sees  the  dome  of  St.  Peter's  rising  above  the  desolate  Cam- 
pagna  and  the  dead  city,  long  before  the  seven  hills  and  the 
ruined  palaces  appear  to  his  view.  The  fame  of  the  dead 
fisherman  has  outlived  the  glory  of  the  Eternal  City.  A  noble 
life,  crowned  with  heroic  death,  rises  above  and  outlives  the 
pride  and  pomp  and  glory  of  the  mightiest  empire  of  the  earth. 

Seen  from  the  western  slope  of  our  Capitol,  in  direction, 
distance,  and  appearance  this  spot  is  not  unlike  the  Vatican 
Mount,  though  the  river  that  flows  at  our  feet  is  larger  than 
a  hundred  Tibers.  The  soil  beneath  our  feet  was  once 
watered  by  the  tears  of  slaves,  in  whose  hearts  the  sight  of 
yonder  proud  Capitol  awakened  no  pride  and  inspired  no 
hope.  But,  thanks  be  to  God,  this  arena  of  rebellion  and 
slavery  is  a  scene  of  violence  no  longer  !  This  will  be  forever 
the  sacred  mountain  of  our  capital.  Here  is  our  temple ;  its 
pavement  is  the  sepulcher  of  heroic  hearts ;  its  dome,  the 
bending  heaven ;  its  altar  candles,  the  watching  stars. 

And  now  consider  this  silent  assembly  of  the  dead.     If 


2'66          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

each  grave  had  a  voice  to  tell  us  what  its  silent  tenant  last 
saw  and  heard  on  earth,  we  might  stand  with  uncovered 
heads  and  hear  the  whole  story  of  the  war.  We  should  hear 
that  one  perished  when  the  first  great  drops  of  the  crimson 
shower  began  to  fall,  when  the  darkness  of  that  first  disaster 
at  Manassas  fell  like  an  eclipse  on  the  nation.  We  should 
hear  that  another  died  of  disease  while  wearily  waiting  for 
winter  to  end ;  that  this  one  fell  on  the  field,  in  sight  of  the 
spires  of  Richmond ;  and  that  one  fell  when  the  tide  of  war 
had  swept  us  back  till  the  roar  of  rebel  guns  shook  the  dome 
of  yonder  Capitol  and  reechoed  in  the  chambers  of  the 
Executive  Mansion. 

We  should  hear  mingled  voices  from  the  Rappahannock, 
the  Rapidan,  the  Chickahominy,  and  the  James,  solemn 
voices  from  the  Wilderness,  and  triumphant  shouts  from  the 
Shenandoah,  from  Petersburg,  and  the  Five  Forks,  mingled 
with  the  wild  acclaim  of  victory  and  the  sweet  chorus  of 
returning  peace.  The  voices  of  these  dead  will  forever  fill 
the  land  like  holy  benedictions. 

What  other  spot  so  fitting  for  their  last  resting-place  as 
this,  under  the  shadow  of  the  Capitol  saved  by  their  valor  ? 
Here,  where  the  grim  edge  of  battle  joined,  —  here,  where 
all  the  hope  and  fear  and  agony  of  their  country  centered,  — 
here  let  them  rest,  asleep  on  the  nation's  heart,  entombed  in 
the  nation's  love  ! 


HENRY   WARD    BEECHER. 


267 


COMPROMISE  OF  PRINCIPLE. 


SUPPRESSED  REPUDIATION. 


WENDELL  PHILLIPS. 


OUR  NATIONAL  FLAG. 


Loss  OF  THE  ARCTIC. 


THE  NORTH  AND  THE  AFRICAN. 


268 


COMPROMISE    OF    PRINCIPLE.  269 

COMPROMISE   OF  PRINCIPLE. 

HENRY  WARD  BEECHER. 

IN  the  march  of  nations  our  country  has  kept  step.  We 
know  it  by  the  victory  of  ideas,  by  the  recognition  of  prin- 
ciples instead  of  mere  policies.  The  tree  of  life,  whose 
leaves  were  for  the  healing  of  the  nations,  has  been  evilly 
dealt  with.  Its  boughs  have  been  lopped,  and  its  roots 
starved  till  its  fruit  is  knurly.  But  now  again  it  blooms.  The 
air  is  fragrant  in  its  opening  buds;  the  young  fruit  is  setting. 
God  has  returned  and  looked  upon  it,  and,  behold,  summer 
is  in  all  its  branches  ! 

I  do  not  wish  you  to  think  that  the  background  is  not 
dark ;  for  it  is.  There  is  excitement.  There  is  brewing 
mischief.  The  clouds  lie  lurid  along  the  Southern  horizon. 
The  Caribbean  Sea,  that  breeds  tornadoes  and  whirlwinds, 
has  heaped  up  treasures  of  storms  portentous  that  seem 
about  to  break.  Let  them  break !  God  has  appointed  their 
bounds.  Not  till  the  sea  drives  back  the  shore,  and  the 
Atlantic  submerges  the  continent,  will  this  tumult  of  an 
angry  people  move  the  firm  decrees  of  God.  Selfish  interests, 
if  they  are  our  pilots,  will  betray  us.  Vainglory  will  destroy 
us.  Pride  will  wreck  us.  Expedients  are  for  an  hour,  but 
principles  are  for  the  ages.  Nothing  can  be  permanent  and 
nothing  safe  in  this  exigency  that  does  not  sink  deeper  than 
politics  or  money.  We  must  touch  the  rock  or  we  shall  never 
have  firm  foundations. 

It  is  rank  infidelity,  stupendous  infatuation,  to  suppose 
that  the  greatness  of  this  nation  ever  sprung  from  the  wisdom 
of  expediency,  instead  of  the  power  of  settled  principles. 
Your  harbor  did  not  make  you  rich ;  you  made  the  harbor 
rich.  Your  ships  did  not  create  your  commerce  ;  your  com- 
merce created  your  ships,  and  you  created  your  commerce. 


2/O          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

Your  stores  did  not  make  traffic.  Your  factories  did  not 
create  enterprise.  Your  firms,  your  committees,  your  treaties, 
and  your  legislation  did  not  create  national  prosperity.  Our 
past  greatness  sprung  from  our  obedience  to  God's  natural 
and  moral  law.  We  had  men  trained  to  courage,  to  virtue, 
to  wisdom.  And  manhood  —  manhood —  MANHOOD  —  exer- 
cised in  the  fear  of  God  has  made  this  nation. 

When  night  is  on  the  deep,  when  the  headlands  are 
obscured  by  the  darkness,  and  when  storm  is  in  the  air,  that 
man  who  undertakes  to  steer  by  looking  over  the  side  of  the 
ship,  over  the  bow  or  over  the  stern,  or  by  looking  at  the 
clouds  or  his  own  fears,  is  a  fool.  There  is  a  silent  needle 
in  the  binnacle  which  points  like  the  finger  of  God,  telling 
the  manner  which  way  to  steer,  and  enabling  him  to  outride 
the  storm  and  reach  the  harbor  in  safety.  And  what  the 
compass  is  to  navigation,  that  is  moral  principle  in  political 
affairs. 


SUPPRESSED  REPUDIATION. 

HENRY  WARD  BEECHER. 

THERE  is  a  danger  from  suppressed  repudiation.  When 
children  have  the  measles,  and  when  after  an  appropriate* 
time  saffron  and  all  the  other  drinks  fail  to  bring  them  out, 
the  doctors  shake  their  heads  and  call  them  suppressed 
measles ;  and  the  measles  suppressed  are  more  dangerous 
than  when  brought  out.  And  suppressed  repudiation  is  all 
the  more  dangerous  than  any  open  and  avowed  repudiation. 

Whenever,  in  any  nation,  the  moral  sense  of  men  is 
bewildered,  and  liberty  is  given  to  unprincipled  men  at  large 
to  cheat,  to  be  unfaithful  to  obligations,  to  refuse  the  pay- 
ment of  honest  debts  —  wherever  that  takes  place,  it  is  all 


SUPPRESSED  REPUDIATION.  2/1 

the  worse  if  done  with  the  permission  of  law  !  I  hate  the 
devil  riding  on  a  law  worse  than  I  do  the  devil  riding  without 
a  law  under  him. 

What  would  become  of  this  land  if  all  standards  were 
tampered  with  ?  What  if  the  legislature  this  year  should 
ordain  that  a  foot  should  consist  of  only  ten  inches  ?  WThat 
if  next  year,  the  power  being  taken  out  of  their  hands  by  the 
other  party,  it  should  be  ordained  that  a  foot  should  measure 
fourteen  inches;  and  so  every  three  or  five  years  the  standard 
should  be  changed  on  which  immense  and  innumerable  con- 
tracts were  based  ?  What  if  the  pound  weight  should  be 
tampered  with,  and  it  should  be  ordained  now  that  a  pound 
is  ten  ounces,  now  that  it  is  twelve,  and  now  that  it  is  fifteen  ? 
What  if  all  the  standards  on  which  business  is  conducted 
should  be  subject  to  fluctuations  and  caprice  ?  What  chance 
would  there  be  for  honesty,  for  integrity,  or  for  solid 
prosperity  ? 

The  danger  into  which  we  are  running  is  hidden  under 
the  mystery  of  finance  and  the  currency.  All  money  is  but 
a  representative  of  property.  Gold  is  the  world's  standard. 
Gold  is  the  universal  measure  of  value.  Gold  is  king  in 
commerce.  All  other  money  must  represent  gold.  No  vote 
of  legislature  can  change  the  nature  of  commerce,  the  nature 
of  property,  the  nature  of  its  representative  in  money,  or  the 
relative  superiority  or  inferiority  of  different  currencies. 
Gold  came  to  its  supremacy  as  a  representative  of  property 
by  the  long-established  consent  of  mankind.  Congress  can- 
not change  it  for  the  world,  nor  even  for  this  nation  except 
upon  past  transactions.  The  crime  of  paying  a  debt  in  a 
currency  inferior  in  value  to  that  in  which  it  was  contracted, 
base  at  all  times  and  anywhere,  has  a  deeper  guilt  and  a 
baser  infamy  in  our  case. 

When,  in  our  mortal  struggle,  capitalists  were  solicited  to 
lend  their  money  to  us  on  the  faith  of  the  nation,  we  were 


2/2          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

too  glad,  most  grateful  for  their  aid.  Then  they  were  not 
grasping  and  swollen  usurers.  Oh,  no  ;  they  were  bene- 
factors !  We  rejoiced  in  their  bounty,  and  gave  thanks  for 
their  confiding  faith  in  our  national  honesty.  Now,  our 
dangers  past,  we  revile  them,  finding  no  epithets  too  violent, 
and  strive  to  pay  them,  not  gold  for  the  gold  they  lent  our 
misery,  but  in  a  dishonest  measure  of  an  inferior  metal. 

In  all  great  crises  our  nation  has  gone  right ;  and  the 
nation  will  go  right.  Like  a  ship  against  which  storms  are 
leagued,  it  rolled  heavily,  it  was  dashed  upon  by  overwhelm- 
ing waves,  only  to  rear  up  its  unharmed  hull,  and,  in  darkness 
or  in  light,  against  the  elements  to  hold  on  its  way,  taking 
no  counsel  of  storm  or  of  darkness,  but  of  the  compass  that 
lay  silent  before  it,  an  unerring  guide.  Let  us  not,  therefore, 
have  any  such  war  cries  as  "  liberty,  equality,  fraternity"; 
but  let  our  war-cry  be"  INTEGRITY,  INTELLIGENCE,  LIBERTY." 
With  that  legend  we  will  fight  the  world  and  time,  and  win 
all  right  things. 


WENDELL   PHILLIPS. 

HENRY  WARD  BEECHER. 

IT  was  at  the  beginning  of  the  Egyptian  era  in  America 
that  the  young  aristocrat  of  Boston  appeared.  His  blood 
came  through  the  best  colonial  families.  All  his  life  long 
Wendell  Phillips  resented  every  attack  on  his  person  and  on 
his  honor  as  a  noble  aristocrat  could.  When  they  poured 
the  filth  of  their  imaginations  upon  him,  he  cared  no  more 
for  it  than  the  eagle  cares  what  the  fly  is  thinking  about  him 
away  down  under  the  cloud.  All  the  miserable  traffickers 
and  all  the  scribblers  and  all  the  aristocratic  foibles  of 
Boston  were  no  more  to  him  than  mosquitoes  are  to  the 
behemoth  or  to  the  lion. 


WENDELL    PHILLIPS.  2/3 

You  remember  when  Lovejoy  was  infamously  slaughtered 
by  a  mob  in  Alton  ;  blood  that  has  been  the  seed  of  liberty 
all  over  the  land.  You  remember  how  Faneuil  Hall  was 
granted  to  call  a  public  meeting  to  express  itself  on  the 
murder.  The  meeting  was  made  up  largely  of  rowdies. 
They  meant  to  overawe  and  put  down  all  other  expressions 
of  opinion  except  those  that  then  rioted  with  the  rioters. 
Wendell  Phillips,  fired  with  their  infamy  and  feeling  called  of 
God  in  his  soul,  went  upon  the  platform.  Practically  unknown 
when  the  sun  went  down  one  day,  when  it  rose  next  morning 
all  Boston  was  saying,  "  Who  is  this  fellow  ?  Who  is  this 
Phillips  ?  "-  —  a  question  that  has  never  been  asked  since. 

The  power  to  discern  right  amid  all  the  trappings  of 
interest  and  all  the  seductions  of  ambition  was  his  genius 
and  his  glory.  In  literature  and  history  widely  read,  in  person 
magnificent,  in  manners  most  accomplished,  in  voice  clear 
and  silvery,  yet  he  was  not  a  man  of  tempests  —  he  was  not 
an  orchestra  of  a  hundred  instruments  —  he  was  not  an 
organ  mighty  and  complex. 

The  nation  slept,  and  God  wanted  a  trumpet,  sharp,  wide- 
sounding,  narrow,  and  intense  —  and  that  was  Wendell 
Phillips.  His  eloquence  was  penetrating  and  alarming.  He 
did  not  flow  as  a  mighty  gulf  stream.  He  did  not  dash  upon 
this  continent  as  the  ocean  does.  He  was  not  a  mighty 
rushing  river.  His  eloquence  was  a  flight  of  arrows,  sentence 
after  sentence  polished,  and  most  of  them  burning.  He 
slung  these  one  after  the  other,  and  when  they  struck  they 
slew,  always  elegant,  always  awful. 

He  belongs  to  the  race  of  giants,  not  simply  because  he 
was  in  and  of  himself  a  great  soul,  but  because  he  bathed  in 
the  providence  of  God,  and  came  forth  scarcely  less  than  a 
god.  When  pygmies  are  all  dead,  the  noble  countenance  of 
Wendell  Phillips  will  still  look  forth,  radiant  as  a  rising  sun 
—  a  sun  that  will  never  set. 


2/4  THE    NEW    CENTURY    SPEAKER. 

THE   NATIONAL   FLAG. 

HENRY  WARD  BEECHER. 

A  THOUGHTFUL  mind,  when  it  sees  a  nation's  flag,  sees 
not  the  flag,  but  the  nation  itself.  When  the  French  tricolor 
rolls  out  to  the  wind,  we  see  France.  When  the  new-found 
Italian  flag  is  unfurled,  we  see  unified  Italy.  When  the 
united  crosses  of  St.  Andrew  and  St.  George,  on  a  fiery 
ground,  set  forth  the  banner  of  old  England,  we  see  not  the 
cloth  merely;  there  rises  up  before  the  mind  the  idea  of  that 
great  monarchy. 

This  nation/has  a  banner,  too  ;  and  wherever  this  flag 
comes,  and  men  behold  it,  they  see  h/its  sacred  emblazonry 
no  ramping  lion  and  no  fierce  eagle,  no  embattled  castles 
or  insignia  of  imperial  authority ;  they  see  the  symbols  of 
light.  It  is  the  banner  of  dawn.  It  means  liberty ;  and 
the  galley  slave,  the  poor,  oppressed  conscript,  the  trodden- 
down  creature  of  foreign  despotism,  sees  in  the  American 
flag  the  very  promise  of  God. 

If  one,  then,  asks  me  the  meaning  of  our  flag,  I  say  to 
him  :  It  means  just  what  Concord  and  Lexington  meant, 
what  Bunker,  Hill  meant.  It  means  the  whole  glorious 
Revolutionary  War.  It  means  all  that  the  Declaration  of 
Independence  meant.  It  means  all  that  the  Constitution  of 
our  people,  organizing  for  justice,  for  liberty,  and  for  happi- 
ness, meant. 

Our  flag  carries  American  ideas,  American  history,  and 
American  feelings. /Beginning  with /the  colonies,  and  coming 
down  jfo  our  tinie,  in  its  sacred  heraldry,  in  its  glorious 
insignia,  it  has  gathered  and  stor/d  chiefly  this  supreme  idea: 
divine  right  of  liberty  in  man.  Every  color  means  liberty; 
every  thread  means  liberty;  every  form  of  star  and  beam  or 
stripe  of  light  means  liberty — not  lawlessness,  not  license, 


THE    NATIONAL    FLAG.  275 

but  organized,  institutional  liberty  —  liberty  through  law, 
and  laws  for  liberty  ! 

This  American  flag  was  the  safeguard  of  liberty.  Not  an 
atom  of  crown  was  allowed  to  go  into  its  insignia.  Not  a 
symbol  of  authority  in  the  ruler  was  permitted  to  go  into  it. 
It  was  an  ordinance  of  liberty  by  the  people  for  the  people. 
That  it  meant,  that  it  means,  and,  by  the  blessing  of  God, 
that  it  shall  mean  to  the  end  of  time  ! 

Under  this  banner  rode  Washington  and  his  armies. 
Before  it  Burgoyne  laid  down  his  arms.  It  waved  on  the 
highlands  at  West  Point.  When  Arnold  would  have  sur- 
rendered these  valuable  fortresses  and  precious  legacies,  his 
night  was  turned  into  day  and  his  treachery  was  driven  away 
by  the  beams  of  light  from  this  starry  banner. 

It  cheered  our  army,  driven  out  from  around  New  York, 
and  in  their  painful  pilgrimages  through  New  Jersey.  In 
New  Jersey,  more  than  in  almost  every  other  state,  grows  the 
trailing  arbutus.  May  I  not  think  it  is  sacred  drops  of 
Pilgrim  blood  that  come  forth  in  beauteous  flowers  on  this 
sandiest  of  soils  ?  For  this  sweet  blossom  that  lays  its  cheek 
on  the  very  snow  is  the  true  Pilgrim's  Mayflower !  This 
banner  streamed  in  light  over  the  soldiers'  heads  at  Valley 
Forge  and  at  Morristown.  It  crossed  the  waters  rolling  with 
ice  at  Trenton,  and  when  its  stars  gleamed  in  the  cold 
morning  with  victory,  a  new  day  of  hope  dawned  on  the 
^despondency  of  this  nation. 

Our  states  grew  up  under  it.  And  when  our  ships  began 
;to  swarm  upon  the  ocean  to  carry  forth  our  commerce,  and 
Great  Britain  arrogantly  demanded  the  right  to  intrude  her 
search  warrants  upon  American  decks,  then  up  went  the 
lightning  flag,  and  every  star  meant  liberty  and  every  stripe 
streamed  defiance.  The  gallant  fleet  of  Lake  Erie  —  have 
you  forgotten  it  ?  The  thunders  that  echoed  to  either  shore 
were  overshadowed  by  this  broad  ensign  of  our  American 


276          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

liberty.  Those  glorious  men  that  went  forth  in  the  old  ship 
Constitution  carried  this  banner  to  battle  and  to  victory.  The 
old  ship  is  alive  yet.  Bless  the  name,  bless  the  ship,  bless 
her  historic  memory,  and  bless  the  old  flag  that  waves  over 
her  yet  ! 

How  glorious,  then,  has  been  its  origin !     How  glorious 
has  been  its  history !     How  divine  is  its  meaning  ! 


LOSS   OF   THE  "ARCTIC." 

HENRY  WARD  BEECHER. 

IT  was  autumn.  Hundreds  had  wended  their  way  from 
pilgrimages ;  from  Rome,  and  its  treasures  of  dead  art  and 
its  glory  of  living  nature ;  from  the  side  of  the  Switzer's 
Mountains;  from  the  capitals  of  various  nations.  And  so  the 
throng  streamed  along  from  Berlin,  from  Paris,  from  the 
Orient,  converging  upon  London,  still  hastening  towards 
the  welcome  ship.  Never  had  the  Arctic  borne  such  a  host 
of  passengers. 

The  hour  was  come.  The  bell  strikes;  the  wheel  revolves; 
the  signal  gun  beats  its  echoes  along  the  shore,  and  the 
Arctic  glides  joyfully  forth  from  the  Mersey  and  begins  her 
homeward  run.  The  pilot  stood  at  the  wheel,  and  none  saw 
him.  Death  sat  upon  the  prow,  and  no  eye  beheld  him. 
Whoever  stood  at  the  wheel  in  all  that  voyage,  Death  was 
the  pilot,  and  none  knew  it.  He  never  revealed  his  presence 
nor  whispered  his  errand. 

And  so  hope  was  effulgent,  and  lithe  gayety  disported 
itself,  and  joy  was  with  every  guest.  Eight  days  had  passed. 
They  beheld  the  fog  bank  of  Newfoundland.  Boldly  they 
plunged  in,  and  its  pliant  wreaths  wrapped  about  them. 


LOSS    OF    THE    ARCTIC.  2/7 

They  shall  never  emerge.  The  last  sunlight  has  flashed 
from  that  deck.  The  last  voyage  is  done  to  ship  and 
passengers. 

At  a  league's  distance,  unconscious,  and  at  nearer  approach 
unwarned,  within  line,  and  bearing  right  towards  each  other, 
unseen,  emerging  from  the  gray  mist,  the  ill-omened  Vesta 
dealt  her  deadly  stroke  to  the  Arctic.  The  deathblow  was 
scarcely  felt  along  the  mighty  hull.  She  neither  reeled  nor 
shivered.  Neither  commander  nor  officer  deemed  that  they 
had  suffered  harm.  Prompt  upon  humanity,  the  brave  Luce 
ordered  away  his  boat  with  the  first  officer  to  inquire  if  the 
stranger  had  suffered  harm. 

They  departed,  and  with  them  the  hope  of  the  ship ;  for 
now  the  waters,  gaming  upon  the  hold  and  rising  up  upon 
the  fires,  revealed  the  mortal  blow.  Then  each  subordinate 
officer  lost  all  presence  of  mind,  his  courage,  his  honor.  In 
a  wild  scramble,  that  ignoble  mob  of  firemen,  engineers, 
waiters,  and  crew  rushed  for  the  boats,  and  abandoned  the 
helpless  passengers  to  the  mercy  of  the  deep.  Four  hours 
there  were  from  the  catastrophe  of  collision  to  the  catastrophe 
of  sinking. 

Oh,  what  a  burial  was  there  !  Not  as  when  one  is  borne 
from  his  home,  among  weeping  friends,  and  gently  carried 
to  the  green  fields,  and  laid  peacefully  beneath  the  turf  and 
the  flowers.  No  priest  stood  to  pronounce  a  burial  service. 
It  was  an  ocean  grave.  The  mists  alone  shrouded  the  burial 
place.  No  spade  prepared  the  grave,  nor  sexton  filled  up 
the  hallowed  earth.  Down,  down  they  sank,  and  the  quick 
returning  waters  smoothed  out  every  ripple  and  left  the  sea 
as  if  it  had  not  been. 


2/8  THE    NEW    CENTURY    SPEAKER. 


THE  NORTH  AND  THE  AFRICAN. 

HENRY   WARD   BEECHER. 

IF  we  would  benefit  the  African  at  the  South,  we  must 
begin  at  the  North.  The  lever  with  which  to  lift  the  load  of 
Georgia  is  in  New  York.  I  do  not  believe  that  the  North 
can  tolerate  grinding  injustice  toward  the  poor  and  inhu- 
manity toward  the  laboring  classes,  without  exerting  an 
influence  unfavorable  to  justice  and  humanity  in  the  South. 

No  one  can  fail  to  see  the  inconsistency  between  our 
treatment  of  those  amongst  us  who  are  in  the  lower  walks 
of  life  and  our  professions  of  sympathy  with  the  Southern 
negroes.  How  are  the  free  colored  people  treated  at  the 
North  ?  Can  the  black  man  be  a  mason  in  New  York  ?  Let 
him  be  employed  as  a  journeyman,  and  every  Irish  lover  of 
liberty  that  carries  the  hod  or  trowel  would  leave  at  once, 
or  compel  him  to  leave  !  Can  the  black  man  be  a  carpenter? 
There  is  scarcely  a  carpenter's  shop  in  New  York  in  which 
a  journeyman  would  continue  to  work  if  a  black  man  was 
employed  in  it.  Can  the  black  man  engage  in  the  common 
industries  of  life  ?  There  is  scarcely  one  from  which  he  is 
not  excluded. 

He  is  crowded  down,  down,  down  through  the  most 
menial  callings  to  the  bottom  of  society.  We  heap  upon 
him  moral  obloquy  more  atrocious  than  that  which  the 
master  heaps  upon  the  slave.  And,  notwithstanding  all 
this,  we  lift  ourselves  up  to  talk  to  the  Southern  people 
about  the  rights  and  liberties  of  the  human  soul,  and 
especially  the  African  soul ! 

It  is  true  that  slavery  is  cruel.  But  it  is  not  at  all  certain 
that  there  is  not  more  love  to  the  race  in  the  South  than  in 
the  North.  We  do  not  own  them  ;  so  we  do  not  love  them 
at  all.  The  prejudice  of  the  whites  against  color  is  so 


THE  NORTH  AND  THE  AFRICAN. 

strong  that  they  cannot  endure  to  ride  or  sit  with  a  black 
man,  so  long  as  they  do  not  own  him.  As  neighbors,  they 
are  not  to  be  tolerated  ;  but  as  property  they  are  most  tol- 
erable in  the  house,  the  church,  the  carriage,  the  couch ! 
The  African  owned  may  dwell  in  America  ;  but  unowned, 
he  must  be  expatriated.  Emancipation  must  be  jackal  to 
colonization.  The  choice  given  to  the  African  is  plantation 
or  colonization.  Our  Christian  public  sentiment  is  a  pen- 
dulum swinging  between  owning  or  exporting  the  colored 
poor  in  our  midst. 

The  air  must  be  vital  with  the  love  of  liberty.  We  must 
love  it  for  ourselves  and  demand  it  for  others.  The  glory 
of  intelligence,  refinement,  genius  has  nothing  to  do  with 
men's  rights.  The  rice  slave,  the  Hottentot,  are  as  much 
God's  children  as  Humboldt  or  Chalmers.  That  they  are 
in  degradation  only  makes  it  more  imperative  upon  us  to 
secure  to  them  the  birthright  which  in  their  ignorance  they 
sell  for  a  mess  of  pottage. 

But  the  end  of  these  things  is  at  hand.  A  nobler  spirit  is 
arising.  New  men,  new  hearts,  new  zeals  are  coming  for- 
ward, led  on  by  all  those  signs  and  auspices  that  God  fore- 
sends  when  he  prepares  his  people  to  advance.  This  work, 
well  begun,  must  not  go  back.  It  must  grow,  like  spring, 
into  summer.  God  will  then  give  it  an  autumn  —  without  a 
winter.  And  when  such  a  public  sentiment  fills  the  North, 
founded  upon  religion  and  filled  with  fearless  love  to  both 
the  bond  and  the  free,  it  will  work  all  over  the  continent, 
and  nothing  can  be  hid  from  the  shining  thereof. 


or  THE 
UNIVERSITY 

OF 


WILLIAM    H.  SEWARD. 


281 


A  PLEA  FOR  WILLIAM  FREEMAN. 


THE  AMERICAN  AND  THE  CORSICAN. 


DANIEL  O'CONNELL'S  EPITAPH. 


WELCOME  TO  Louis  KOSSUTH. 


DEFENSE  OF  ALLEGED  CONSPIRATORS  AGAINST  THE  MICHIGAN 
CENTRAL  RAILROAD  COMPANY. 


282 


A    PLEA    FOR    WILLIAM    FREEMAN.  283 

A  PLEA  FOR  WILLIAM  FREEMAN. 

WILLIAM  H.  SEWARD. 

FOR  William  Freeman  as  a  murderer  I  have  no  commis- 
sion to  speak.  If  he  had  silver  and  gold  accumulated  with 
the  frugality  of  a  Croesus,  and  should  pour  it  all  at  my  feet, 
I  would  not  stand  one  hour  between  him  and  the  avenger. 
But  for  the  innocent  it  is  my  right,  my  duty,  to  speak.  If 
this  sea  of  blood  was  innocently  shed,  then  it  is  my  duty  to 
stand  beside  the  prisoner  till  his  steps  lose  their  hold  on 
the  scaffold. 

I  plead  not  for  a  murderer.  I  have  no  inducement,  no 
motive,  to  do  so.  I  have  been  cheered  on  other  occasions 
by  manifestations  of  popular  approbation  and  sympathy; 
but  I  speak  now  in  the  hearing  of  a  people  who  have  pre- 
judged the  prisoner  and  condemned  me  for  pleading  in  his 
behalf.  He  is  a  convict,  a  pauper,  a  negro,  without  intellect, 
sense,  or  emotion. 

My  child,  with  an  affectionate  smile,  disarms  my  care- 
worn face  of  its  frown  whenever  I  cross  my  threshold.  The 
beggar  in  the  street  compels  me  to  give  because  he  says 
"  God  bless  you ! "  as  I  pass.  My  dog  caresses  me  with 
fondness  if  I  but  smile  on  him.  My  horse  recognizes  me 
when  I  fill  his  manger.  But  what  reward,  what  gratitude, 
what  sympathy  and  affection  can  I  expect  here  ?  There 
sits  the  prisoner.  Look  at  him.  Look  at  the  assemblage 
around.  Listen  to  their  ill-suppressed  censures  and  their 
excited  fears,  and  tell  me  where  among  my  neighbors  or  my 
fellow-men,  where  even  in  his  heart,  I  can  expect  to  find  the 
sentiment,  the  thought,  not  to  say  of  reward  or  acknowledg- 
ment, but  even  of  recognition? 

I  sat  here  two  weeks  during  the  preliminary  trial.  I  stood 
between  the  jury  and  the  prisoner  nine  hours,  and  pleaded 
for  the  wretch  that  he  was  insane,  and  that  he  did  not  even 


284          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

know  that  he  was  on  trial.  And  when  all  was  done,  the 
jury,  or  at  least  eleven  of  them,  thought  that  I  had  been 
deceiving  them  or  was  self-deceived.  They  read  signs  of 
intelligence  in  his  idiotic  smile,  and  of  cunning  and  malice 
in  his  stolid  insensibility.  They  rendered  a  verdict  that  he 
was  sane  enough  to  be  tried  —  a  contemptible  compromise 
verdict  in  a  capital  case  —  and  they  looked  on,  with  what 
emotion  God  and  they  only  know,  upon  his  arraignment. 

The  district  attorney  bade  him  rise,  and,  reading  to  him 
one  indictment,  asked  him  whether  he  wanted  trial,  and  the 
poor  fool  answered  :  "No."  "  Have  you  counsel  ?  "  "  No." 
And  they  went  through  the  same  mockery,  the  prisoner 
giving  the  same  answer,  until  a  third  indictment  was  thun- 
dered in  his  ears,  and  he  stood  before  the  court  silent, 
motionless,  and  bewildered.  Gentlemen,  you  may  think  of 
this  action  what  you  will,  bring  in  any  verdict  you  can  ;  but 
I  assert  before  heaven  that  to  the  best  of  my  knowledge 
and  belief  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  does  not  at  this  moment 
know  why  it  is  that  my  shadow  falls  upon  you  instead  of 
his  own.  I  speak  with  all  sincerity  and  earnestness.  But  I 
am*  not  the  prisoner's  lawyer.  I  am  the  lawyer  for  society, 
for  mankind  —  shocked  beyond  the  power  of  expression  by 
the  scenes  I  have  witnessed  here  of  trying  a  maniac  as  a 
malefactor. 

The  circumstances  under  which  this  trial  closes  are  pecu- 
liar. The  prisoner,  though  in  -the  greenness  of  youth,  is 
withered,^  decayed,  senseless,  almost  lifeless.  He  has  no 
father  here.  The  descendant  of  slaves,  that  father  fell  a 
victim  to  the  vices  of  a  superior  race.  There  is  no  mother 
here,  for  her  child  is  polluted  with  the  blood  of  a  mother 
and  an  infant,  and  he  looks  and  laughs  so  that  she  cannot 
bear  to  look  upon  him.  There  is  no  brother,  no  sister,  no 
friend  here.  Popular  rage  against  the  accused  has  driven 
them  hence  and  scattered  his  kindred  and  his  people. 


THE    AMERICAN    AND    THE    CORSICAN.  28$ 

On  the  other  hand:  I  notice  the  aged  and  venerable  par- 
ents of  Van  Nest  and  his  surviving  children,  and  all  around 
are  mourning  and  sympathizing  friends.  I  know  not  at 
whose  instance  they  have  come.  I  dare  not  say  they  ought 
not  to  be  here.  But  this  I  must  say,  that,  though  we  may 
send  this  maniac  to  the  scaffold,  it  will  not  restore  to  life 
the  manly  form  of  Van  Nest,  nor  reanimate  the  exhausted 
frame  of  that  aged  matron,  nor  restore  to  life  and  grace  and 
beauty  the  murdered  mother,  nor  call  back  the  infant  boy 
from  the  arms  of  his  Savior. 

Such  a  verdict  can  do  no  good  to  the  living  and  carry  no 
joy  to  the  dead. 


THE  AMERICAN  AND  THE  CORSICAN. 

WILLIAM    H.   SEWARD. 

STRICKEN  in  the  midst  of  public  service,  in  the  very  act 
of  rising  to  debate,  John  Quincy  Adams  fell  into  the  arms 
of  conscript  fathers  of  the  Republic.  A  long  lethargy  super- 
vened and  oppressed  his  senses.  Nature  rallied  the  wasting 
powers,  on  the  verge  of  the  grave,  for  a  brief  period.  But 
it  was  long  enough  for  him.  He  surveyed  the  scene,  and 
knew  at  once  its  fatal  import.  He  had  left  no  duty  unper- 
formed; he  had  no  wish  unsatisfied,  no  regret,  no  sorrow,  no 
fear,  no  remorse.  Eloquence,  even  in  that  hour,  inspired 
him  with  his  ancient  sublimity  of  utterance.  "  This,"  said 
the  dying  man,  "this  is  the  last  of  earth."  He  paused  for 
a  moment,  and  then  added  :  "  I  am  content." 

Only  two  years  after  the  birth  of  John  Quincy  Adams 
there  appeared  on  an  island  in  the  Mediterranean  Sea  a 
human  spirit  newly  born,  endowed  with  equal  genius,  with- 
out, however,  the  regulating  qualities  of  justice  and  benevo- 
lence which  Adams  possessed  in  an  eminent  degree. 


286  THE    NEW    CENTURY    SPEAKER. 

A  like  career  opened  to  both.  Born,  like  Adams,  a  sub- 
ject of  a  king,  the  child  of  more  genial  skies,  like  him, 
became  in  early  life  a  patriot  and  a  citizen  of  a  new  and 
great  Republic.  Like  Adams,  he  lent  his  service  to  the  state 
in  precocious  youth,  and  in  its  hour  of  need  he  won  its 
confidence.  But,  unlike  Adams,  he  could  not  wait  the  dull 
delays  of  slow  and  laborious  but  sure  advancement.  He 
sought  power  by  the  hasty  road  that  leads  through  fields  of 
carnage,  and  he  became,  like  Adams,  a  supreme  magistrate, 
a  consul.  But  there  were  other  consuls.  He  was  not  con- 
tent. He  thrust  them  aside,  and  was  consul  alone.  Consu- 
lar power  was  too  short.  He  fought  new  battles,  and  was 
consul  for  life.  He  was  not  content.  He  desolated  Europe 
afresh,  subverted  the  Republic,  imprisoned  the  patriarch  who 
presided  over  Rome's  comprehensive  see,  and  obliged  him 
to  pour  on  his  head  the  sacred  oil  that  made  the  persons  of 
kings  divine  and  their  right  to  reign  indefeasible.  He  was 
an  emperor. 

He  scourged  the  earth  again.  But  he  saw  around  him  a 
mother,  brothers,  and  sisters  not  ennobled.  He  bestowed 
kingdoms  and  principalities  upon  his  kindred,  put  away  the 
devoted  wife  of  his  youthful  days,  and  another,  a  daughter 
of  Hapsburgh's  imperial  house,  joyfully  accepted  his  proud 
alliance.  Now  he  was  indeed  a  monarch,  —  a  legitimate 
monarch, — a  monarch  by  divine  appointment.  He  was 
not  content.  He  would  reign  with  his  kindred  alone.  He 
gathered  new  and  greater  armies  from  his  own  land,  from 
subjugated  lands.  He  called  forth  the  young  and  brave  — 
one  from  every  household  —  from  the  Pyrenees  to  the 
Zuyder  Zee  —  from  Jura  to  the  ocean.  He  marshaled  them 
into  long  and  majestic  columns,  and  went  forth  to  seize  that 
universal  dominion  which  seemed  almost  within  his  grasp. 

But  ambition  had  tempted  fortune  too  far.  The  pageant 
was  ended.  The  crown  fell  from  his  presumptuous  head. 


DANIEL  O'CONNELL'S  EPITAPH.  287 

He  was  no  longer  emperor,  nor  consul,  nor  general,  nor 
even  a  citizen,  but  an  exile  and  a  prisoner  on  a  lonely  island 
in  the  midst  of  the  wild  Atlantic.  Discontent  attended  him 
there.  His  heart  corroded.  Death  came,  not  unlocked  for, 
though  it  came  even  then  unwelcome.  As  his  strength 
wasted  away,  delirium  stirred  up  the  brain  from  its  long  and 
inglorious  inactivity.  The  pageant  of  ambition  returned. 
He  was  again  a  lieutenant,  a  general,  a  consul,  an  emperor 
of  France.  He  filled  again  the  throne  of  Charlemagne. 
The  legions  of  the  Old  Guard  were  in  the  field,  their  scarred 
faces  rejuvenated,  and  their  ranks,  thinned  in  many  battles, 
replenished.  Russia,  Prussia,  Austria,  Denmark,  and  Eng- 
land gathered  their  mighty  hosts  to  give  him  battle.  Once 
more  he  mounted  his  impatient  charger  and  rushed  forth  to 
conquest.  He  waved  his  sword  aloft  and  cried :  "  Tete 
d'arme'e !  " 

The  feverish  vision  broke  —  the  mockery  was  ended. 
The  silver  cord  was  loosed,  and  the  warrior  fell  back  upon 
his  bed  a  lifeless  corpse.  This  was  the  last  of  earth.  The 
Corsican  was  not  content. 


DANIEL  O'CONNELL'S  EPITAPH. 

WILLIAM  H.  SEWARD. 

ON  the  lofty  brow  of  Monticello,  under  a  green  old  oak, 
is  a  block  of  granite,  and  underneath  are  the  ashes  of  Jef- 
ferson." Read  the  epitaph;  it  is  the  sage's  claim  to  immor- 
tality :  "  Author  of  the  Declaration  of  Independence  and  of 
the  Statute  for  Religious  Liberty." 

Stop  now  and  write  an  epitaph  for  Daniel  O'Connell : 
"  He  gave  Liberty  of  Conscience  to  Europe,  and  renewed 


288          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

the  Revolutions  of  the  Kingdoms  toward  Universal  Free- 
dom, which  had  begun  in  America  and  had  been  arrested 
by  the  anarchy  of  France."  Let  the  statesmen  of  the  age 
read  that  epitaph  and  be  humble.  Let  the  kings  and  aris- 
tocracies of  the  earth  read  it  and  tremble.  Who  but  O'Con- 
nell  has  ever  given  liberty  to  a  people  by  the  mere  utterance 
of  his  voice,  without  an  army,  navy,  or  revenues  —  without 
a  sword,  a  spear,  or  even  a  shield  ?  Who  but  he  ever 
detached  from  a  venerable  constitution  a  column  of  aristoc- 
racy, dashed  it  to  the  earth,  and  yet  left  the  ancient  fabric 
stronger  and  more  beautiful  than  before  ? 

The  agency  employed  by  O'Connell  was  as  simple  and 
sublime  as  were  his  own  position  and  character.  "  Electors 
of  Clare,"  said  he,  on  the  eve  of  a  special  election,  "  you 
want  a  representative  in  Parliament ;  I  solicit  your  suffrages. 
True,  I  am  a  Catholic.  I  cannot,  and  of  course  I  never 
will,  take  the  oaths  prescribed.  But  the  power  which  cre- 
ated those  oaths  can  abrogate  them.  If  you  elect  me,  I  will 
try  the  question."  O'Connell  could  only  expect  to  be 
elected  by  the  forty-shilling  freeholders,  as  they  were  called, 
—  tenants  of  the  landlords  in  Clare.  Their  votes,  by  tacit 
understanding  and  unbroken  usage,  belonged  to  their  lords. 
But  there  was  now  a  power  higher  than  the  landlord. 

You  see  a  mass  of  the  peasantry  of  Clare  issuing  from 
the  little  parish  church  on  the  hillside.  They  have  rever- 
ently received  the  mass  ;  but  their  steps  indicate  perturba- 
tion. They  gather  around  the  priest,  and  ask  his  paternal 
counsel  concerning  the  hazardous  requirement  of  O'Connell. 
The  priest  lays  down  his  missal,  raises  his  hand  toward 
heaven,  breaks  forth  in  their  own  wild  native  language,  and 
concludes  his  impassioned  harangue  with  the  injunction  : 
"  Vote,  vote  for  O'Connell  and  freedom  ! " 

It  is  now  the  election  day.  There  is  O'Connell,  depicting 
the  atrocities  of  British  persecution  with  a  noble  ardor  of 


DANIEL  O'CONNELL'S  EPITAPH.  289 

religious  zeal.  A  band  of  tenants  are  marching  by  under 
the  conduct  of  their  landlord,  to  vote  for  the  ministerial  can- 
didate. They  pause,  they  mingle  in  the  crowd,  they  listen  ; 
and  now,  at  every  cadence  of  the  liberator's  voice,  redoubled 
shouts  arise  :  "  O'Connell  and  freedom  !  " 

An  elector  is  released  from  jail  by  his  creditor  on  condi- 
tion that  he  vote  against  O'.Connell.  He  is  already  at  the 
polls  ;  a  shrill  cry  is  heard  —  it  is  the  debtor's  wife  who 
speaks  :  "  Remember  your  soul  and  liberty  !  "  The  debtor 
rises  to  the  majesty  of.  a  freeman  and  declares  his  vote  for 
O'Connell.  Instantly  all  rents  in  arrear  are  paid  by  the 
Catholic  Association.  The  elector's  debt  is  discharged 
by  the  same  omnipresent  power,  and  that  noble  Celtic 
woman's  exclamation  becomes  the  watchword  of  all  Ireland  : 
"  Remember  your  soul  and  liberty  ! " 

But  there  is  sad  news  from  Genoa.  An  aged  and  weary 
pilgrim  who  can  travel  no  further,  passes  beneath  the  gate 
of  one  of  her  ancient  palaces,  saying  with  pious  resignation 
as  he  enters  its  silent  chambers  :  "Well,  it  is  God's  will  that 
I  shall  never  see  Rome.  I  am  disappointed.  But  I  am 
ready  to  die.  It  is  all  right."  The  superb  though  fading 
queen  of  the  Mediterranean  holds  anxious  watch  through 
ten  long  days  over  that  majestic  stranger's  wasting  frame. 
And  now  death  is  there  —  the  liberator  of  Ireland  has  sunk 
to  rest  in  the  cradle  of  Columbus. 

O'Connell  left  his  mighty  enterprise  unfinished.  So  did 
the  founder  of  the  Hebrew  state ;  so  did  Cato ;  so  did 
Hampden  ;  so  did  Emmett  and  Fitzgerald.  Will  their  epi- 
taphs be  less  sublime  by  reason  of  the  long  delay  which 
intervenes  before  they  can  be  written  ?  It  is  God  that  sets 
the  limits  to  human  life  and  the  bounds  to  human  achieve- 
ment. 


2QO  THE    NEW    CENTURY    SPEAKER. 

WELCOME  TO  LOUIS  KOSSUTH. 

WILLIAM   H.   SEWARD. 

I  WILL  suppose  now  that  the  opposition  made  to  this 
resolution  to  welcome  Louis  Kossuth  is  effective.  I  will 
suppose  that  the  measure  is  defeated.  Where,  then,  sir,  shall 
he  find  welcome  and  repose  ?  In  his  own  beautiful  native 
land,  at  the  base  or  on  the  slopes  of  the  Carpathian  hills  ? 
No  !  the  Austrian  despot  reigns  absolutely  there.  Shall  he 
find  it  in  Germany,  east  or  west,  north  or  south?  No,  sir; 
the  despot  of  Austria  and  the  despot  of  Prussia  reign  abso- 
lutely there.  Shall  he  find  it  under  the  sunny  skies  of 
Italy  ?  No,  sir  ;  for  the  Austrian  monarch  has  crushed 
Italy  to  the  earth.  Shall  he  find  it  in  Siberia,  or  in  the 
frozen  regions  of  the  North  ?  No,  sir  ;  for  the  Russian 
czar,  who  drove  him  from  his  native  land  and  forced  him 
into  exile  in  Turkey,  will  be  ready  to  seize  the  fugitive. 
The  scaffold  awaits  him  there.  Where,  then,  shall  he  go  ? 
Where  else  on  the  face  of  broad  Europe  can  he  find  refuge 
but  in  the  land  of  your  forefathers,  in  Britain  ?  There,  God 
be  thanked,  there  would  be  a  welcome  and  a  home  for  him. 
Are  you  prepared  to  give  to  the  world  evidence  that  you 
cannot  receive  the  representative  of  liberty  and  republican- 
ism, whom  England  can  honor,  shelter,  and  protect  ? 

But  will  this  transaction  end  there  ?  No,  sir.  Beyond  us, 
above  us,  there  is  a  tribunal  higher  and  greater  than  the 
Congress  of  the  United  States.  It  is  the  tribunal  of  the 
public  opinion  of  the  world  —  the  public  opinion  of  man- 
kind. And  before  that  tribunal  does  the  Unites  States  hold 
up  the  right  hand  and  answer  "Not  guilty"? 

You  say  that  you  were  willing  to  give  Kossuth  a  welcome, 
but  that  he  demanded  more.  How  did  you  know  that  he 
"demanded  more"?  But,  you  reply,  he  was  overheard  to 


DEFENSE  OF  ALLEGED  CONSPIRATORS.      2QI 

say  that  he  expected  arms,  men,  money,  "  material  aid,  and 
intervention."  Overheard?  What!  did  you  deliver  Kos- 
suth  from  Russian  surveillance  in  Turkey  to  establish  an 
espionage  over  him  of  your  own  ?  Shame  !  shame  to  the 
country  that  so  lightly  regards  the  sanctity  of  the  character 
of  a  stranger  and  an  exile  ! 

But,  you  say,  you  stand  upon  precedent.  And  what 
precedent  ?  The  precedent  of  the  reception  given  to  La- 
fayette ?  Wherein  does  the  parallel  between  Kossuth  and 
Lafayette  fail  ?  Lafayette  began  his  career  as  a  soldier  of 
liberty  in  the  cause  of  your  country  ;  but  he  pursued  it 
through  life  in  an  effort  to  establish  a  Republic  in  his  own 
beloved  land.  Kossuth  found  the  duty  which  first  devolved 
upon  him  was  to  wage  a  struggle  for  freedom  in  his  own 
country.  When  overborne  there,  he  became,  like  Lafayette, 
a  champion  of  liberty  throughout  the  world. 

You  say  that  the  Russian  might  have  taken  offense.  Is 
America,  then,  brought  so  low  that  she  fears  to  give  offense 
when  commanded  by  the  laws  of  nature  and  of  nations  ? 
What  right  had  Russia  to  prescribe  whom  you  should 
receive  and  whom  reject  from  your  hospitalities  ?  Let  no 
such  humiliation  be  confessed. 


DEFENSE  OF  ALLEGED  CONSPIRATORS  AGAINST  THE 
MICHIGAN  CENTRAL  RAILROAD  COMPANY. 

WILLIAM    H.   SEWARD. 

FIFTEEN  years  ago  Michigan  attempted  to  stretch  a  rail- 
road across  the  peninsula  from  shore  to  shore.  The  regions 
through  which  it  passed  were  newly  opened.  Their  inhabit- 
ants were  settlers,  and  settlers  were  generally  poor.  Their 


THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

farms  were  not  fenced.  Public  roads,  as  well  as  public 
lands,  were  habitually  used  as  ranges  for  pasturage.  Cattle, 
often  the  settler's  only  convertible  property,  were  frequently 
destroyed.  The  corporation  refused  to  pay  damages ;  the 
settler  insisted  on  them.  Litigation  ensued,  and  failed  to 
settle  the  contested  claim.  The  corporation  offered  half 
price  as  a  compromise.  The  settler  regarded  this  as  a 
concession  of  the  right,  and  insisted  on  the  whole.  Jealousy 
of  wealth  and  power  inflamed  the  controversy.  The  con- 
troversy became  embittered.  On  the  night  of  the  iQth  of 
November  last  the  freight  depot  at  Detroit  took  fire  and 
was  reduced  to  ashes.  No  one  dreamed,  or  ever  would  have 
dreamed,  of  an  incendiary,  had  not  a  public  outcast,  lured 
by  the  tempting  rewards  of  the  corporation,  conceived  the 
thought  of  enriching  himself  by  charging  the  crime  com- 
mitted here  upon  persons  in  Jackson  County,  obnoxious  for 
trespasses  committed  there. 

As  I  now  look  upon  the  men  who  occupy  the  place  on  my 
right  hand,  and  recognize  among  them  pioneers  of  the  state, 
its  farmers,  its  mechanics,  and  its  citizens,  and  then  on  this 
legion  of  spies,  and  find  there  on  the  witness  stand  convicts 
yet  wearing  the  look  and  the  gait  contracted  in  the  state 
prison,  and  see  others  come  reeking  from  the  stews  of  the 
city,  I  ask  myself,  can  it  be  real  ?  No  !  I  am  not  in  Michi- 
gan. I  am  in  Venice,  where  an  aristocratic  senate  keeps 
always  open  the  lion's  mouth,  as  well  by  day  as  by  night, 
gaping  for  accusations  against  the  plebeian  and  the  patriot. 
I  am  in  Syracuse,  and  see  before  me  the  dungeon  which  the 
tyrant  has  erected,  with  cells  in  which  he  has  imprisoned 
those  he  fears,  and  with  walls  constructed  on  the  model  of 
the  human  ear,  so  that  its  curious  channels  convey  to  him 
even  suppressed  groans  and  sighs  and  whispered  complaints. 
But  I  mistake.  This  is  not  the  act  of  citizens  of  Detroit, 
for  they  are  a  humane  people.  It  is  not  the  act  of  Michi- 


DEFENSE  OF  ALLEGED  CONSPIRATORS.      2Q3 

gan,  for  it  is  a  just  and  benignant  commonwealth.  It  is  not 
the  act  even  of  the  Michigan  Central  Railroad  Company. 
It  is  the  act  of  agents  of  that  corporation  who  have  dared 
misuse  their  powers  and  to  assume  the  police  authority  of 
the  state. 

Gentlemen,  in  the  middle  of  the  fourth  month  we  draw 
near  to  the  end  of  what  has  seemed  to  be  an  endless  labor. 
The  rugged  forms -of  the  unfortunate  men  whom  I  have 
defended  have  drooped,  their  sunburnt  brows  have  blanched, 
and  their  hands  have  become  as  soft  to  the  pressure  of 
friendship  as  yours  or  mine.  One  of  them,  a  vagrant  boy, 
whom  I  found  imprisoned  here  for  a  few  extravagant  words 
that  perhaps  he  never  uttered,  has.  pined  away  and  died. 
Another,  he  who  was  feared,  hated,  and  loved  most  of  all, 
has  fallen  in  the  vigor  of  life, 

hacked  down, 
His  thick  summer  leaves  all  faded. 

When  such  a  one  falls  amid  the  din  and  smoke  of  the  battle- 
field, our  emotions  are  overpowered,  suppressed,  lost  in  the 
excitement  of  public  passion.  But  when  he  perishes  a 
victim  of  domestic  or  social  strife  —  when  we  see  the  iron 
enter  his  soul,  and  see  it  day  by  day  sink  deeper  and  deeper, 
until  nature  gives  way,  and  he  lies  lifeless  at  our  feet  —  then 
there  is  nothing  to  check  the  flow  of  forgiveness,  compassion, 
and  sympathy. 

If  he  whom  God  has  called  hence  was  guilty  of  the  crime 
charged  in  this  indictment,  every  man  here  may  neverthe- 
less be  innocent ;  but  if  he  was  innocent,  then  there  is  not 
one  of  these,  his  associates  in  life,  who  can  be  guilty.  Try 
him,  then,  since  you  must,  condemn  him  if  you  must,  and 
with  him  condemn  them.  But  remember  that  you  are 
mortal  and  he  is  now  immortal,  and  that  before  the  tribunal 
where  he  stands  you  must  stand  and  confront  him  and 
vindicate  your  judgment. 


WENDELL    PHILLIPS. 


295 


THE  SCHOLAR'S  DISTRUST. 


THE  MURDER  OF  LOVEJOY. 


NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE  AND  TOUSSAINT  L'OUVERTURE. 


TOUSSAINT    L'OUVERTURE'S    PLACE    AMONG    GREAT    MEN. 


DANIEL  O'CONNELL  THE  ORATOR. 


DANIEL  O'CONNELL'S  POWER  OVER  THE  IRISH  PEOPLE. 


IDOLS. 


WILLIAM  LLOYD  GARRISON. 


PUBLIC  OPINION. 


WHAT  WE  OWE  THE  PILGRIMS. 


THE  SCHOLAR'S  DISTRUST.  297 

THE  SCHOLAR'S   DISTRUST. 

WENDELL  PHILLIPS. 

ANACHARSIS  went  into  the  Archons'  court  at  Athens,  heard 
a  case  argued  by  the  great  men  of  that  city,  and  saw  the  vote 
by  five  hundred  men.  Walking  in  the  streets,  some  one  asked 
him,  "What  do  you  think  of  Athenian  liberty?  "  "  I  think," 
said  he,  "  wise  men  argue  cases  and  fools  decide  them." 

Just  what  that  timid  scholar,  two  thousand  years  ago,  said 
in  the  streets  of  Athens  that  which  calls  itself  scholarship 
here  says  to-day  of  popular  agitation,  —  that  it  lets  wise  men 
argue  questions  and  fools  decide  them.  Yet  to  that  Athens, 
where  fools  decided  the  gravest  questions  of  policy  and  right 
and  wrong,  God  lent  the  largest  intellects;  and  that  very 
Athens  flashes  to-day  the  torch  that  gilds  still  the  mountain 
peaks  of  the  Old  World. 

A  chronic  distrust  of  the  people  pervades  the  book- 
educated  class  of  the  North.  They  shrink  from  that  free 
speech  which  is  God's  normal  school  for  educating  men, 
throwing  upon  them  the  grave  responsibility  of  deciding 
great  questions,  and  so  lifting  them  to  a  higher  level  of 
intellectual  and  moral  life. 

I  knew  a  signal  instance  of  this  disease  of  scholar's  dis- 
trust, and  the  cure  was  as  remarkable.  I  remember  sitting 
with  Lothrop  Motley  once  in  the  State  House  when  he  was 
a  member  of  our  legislature.  "  What  can  become  of  a 
country,"  said  he  scornfully,  "  with  such  fellows  as  these 
making  its  laws  ?  No  safe  investments ;  your  good  name 
lied  away  any  hour,  and  little  worth  keeping  if  it  were  not." 
In. vain  I  combated  the  folly.  He  went  to  Europe;  spent 
four  or  five  years.  I  met  him  the  day  he  landed  on  his 
return.  As  if  our  laughing  talk  in  the  State  House  had  that 
moment  ended,  he  took  my  hand  with  the  sudden  exclamation, 


2Q8          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

"  You  were  all  right;  I  was  all  wrong.  It  is  a  country 
worth  dying  for,  to  make  it  all  it  can  be."  Europe  had 
made  him  one  of  the  most  American  of  all  Americans. 

This  distrust  shows  itself  in  the  growing  dislike  of  univer- 
sal suffrage.  Timid  scholars  tell  their  dread  of  it.  But  sup- 
pose that  universal  suffrage  endangered  peace  and  threatened 
property.  There  is  something  more  valuable  than  wealth; 
there  is  something  more  sacred  than  peace.  As  Humboldt 
says,  "  The  finest  fruit  earth  holds  up  to  its  Maker  is  a  man." 
To  ripen,  lift,  and  educate  a  man  is  the  first  duty.  Despotism 
looks  down  into  the  poor  man's  cradle,  and  knows  it  can 
crush  resistance  and  curb  ill-will.  Democracy  sees  the 
ballot  in  that  baby  hand ;  and  selfishness  bids  her  put 
integrity  on  one  side  of  those  baby  footsteps  and  intelligence 
on  the  other,  lest  her  own  hearth  be  in  peril. 

In  this  sense  John  Brown's  pulpit  at  Harper's  Ferry  was 
equal  to  any  ten  thousand  ordinary  chairs  in  our  colleges. 
God  lifted  a  million  of  hearts  to  his  gibbet,  as  the  Roman 
cross  lifted  a  world  to  itself  in  that  divine  sacrifice  of  two 
thousand  years  ago.  Europe  thrilled  to  John  Brown  as  proof 
that  our  institutions  had  not  lost  all  their  native  and  distinc- 
tive life.  You  spoke  to  vacant  eyes  when  you  named  Pres- 
cott,  fifty  years  ago,  to  average  Europeans ;  while  Vienna 
asked  with  careless  indifference,  "  Seward  —  who  is  he  ?  " 
But  long  before  our  ranks  marched  up  State  Street  to  the  John 
Brown  song,  the  banks  of  the  Seine  and  of  the  Danube  hailed 
the  new  life,  which  had  given  us  another  and  nobler  Wash- 
ington. Lowell  foresaw  him  when,  forty  years  ago,  he  sang. 

Truth,  forever  on  the  scaffold ; 

Wrong,  forever  on  the  throne ; 
Yet  that  scaffold  sways  the  future. 

And  behind  the  dim  unknown 
Standeth  God,  within  the  shadow, 

Keeping  watch  above  his  own. 


THE  MURDER  OF  LOVEJOY. 

THE  MURDER  OF  LOVEJOY. 

WENDELL  PHILLIPS. 

A  COMPARISON  has  been  drawn  between  the  events  of  the 
Revolution  and  the  tragedy  at  Alton.  We  have  heard  it 
asserted  here,  in  Faneuil  Hall,  that  Great  Britain  had  a  right 
to  tax  the  colonies;  and  we  have  heard  the  mob  at  Alton, 
the  drunken  murderers  of  Lovejoy,  compared  to  those 
patriot  fathers  who  threw  the  tea  overboard  !  Fellow  citizens, 
is  this  Faneuil  Hall  doctrine  ?  The  mob  at  Alton  were  met 
to  wrest  from  a  citizen  his  just  rights  —  met  to  resist  the 
laws.  We  have  been  told  that  our  fathers  did  the  same ;  and 
the  glorious  mantle  of  Revolutionary  precedent  has  been 
thrown  over  the  mobs  of  our  day.  To  make  out  their  title 
to  such  defense,  the  gentleman  says  that  the  British  Parlia- 
ment had  a  right  to  tax  these  colonies.  Shame  on  the 
American  who  calls  the  tea  tax  and  Stamp  Act  laws£fl&hr 
fathers  resisted,  not  the  king's  prerogative,  but  the  King's 
usurpation.  To  find  any  other  account  you  must  read  our 
Revolutionary  history  upside  down. 

//feir,  when  I  heard  the  gentleman  lay  down  principles 
which  place  the  murderers  of  Alton  side  by  .side  with  Otis 
and  Hancock,  with  Quincy  and  Adams/fTtTiought  those 
pictured  lips  would  have  broken  into  voice  to  rebuke  the 
recreant  American,  —  the  slanderer  of  the  dead.  The  gentle- 
man said  that  he  should  sink  into  insignificance  if  he  dared 
to  gainsay  the  principles  of  these  resolutions.  Sir,  for  the 
sentiments  he  has  uttered,  on  soil  consecrated  by  the  prayers 
of  Puritans  and  the  blood  of  patriots,  the  earth  should  have 
yawned  and  swallowed  him  up.  // 

^jp^The  gentleman  says  Lovejoy  was  riresumptuous  and 
imprudent:  "  He  died  as  the  fool  diethjf  Antf""^  reverend 
clergyman  of  the  city  tells  us  that  no  citizen  has  a  right  to 


3OO          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

publish  opinions  disagreeable  to  the  community  !  If  any 
mob  follows  such  publication,  on  him  rests  its  guilt!  He 
must  wait,  forsooth,  till  the  people  come  up  to  it  and  agree 
with  him !  This  libel  on  liberty  goes  on  to  say  that  the  want 
of  right  to  speak  as  we  think  is  an  evil  inseparable  from 
republican  institutions  !  If  this  be  so,  what  are  they  worth  ? 
^Velcome  the  despotism  of  the  sultan,  where  one  knows  what 
.e  may  publish  and  what  he  may  not,  rather  than  the 
tyranny  of  this  many-headed  monster,  the  mob,  where  we 
know  not  what  we  may  do  or  say,  till  some  fellow  citizen  has 
tried  it  and  paid  for  the  lesson  with  his  life.  Shades 
of  Hugh  Peters  and  John  Cotton  save  us  from  such  pulpits* 

Imprudent  to  defend  the  liberty  of  the  press  !  Why  ? 
Because  the  defense  was  unsuccessful  ?  Does  success  gild 
crime  into  patriotism,  and  the  want  of  it  change  heroic  self- 
devotion  to  imprudence  i^-lpWas  Hampden  imprudent  when 
he  drew  the  sword  and  threw  away  the  scabbard  ?  Yet  he, 
judged  by  that  single  hour,  was  unsuccessful.  After  a  short 
exile,  the  race  he  hated  sat  again  upon  the  throne. 

Imagine  yourself  present  when  the  first  news  of  Bunker 
Hill  Battle  reached  a  New  England  town.  The  tale  would 
have  run  thus  :  "  The  patriots  are  routed  —  the  redcoats 
victorious  —  Warren  lies  dead  upon  the  field."  With  what 
scorn  would  that  Tory  have  been  received  who  should  have 
charged  Warren  with  imprudence,  who  should  have  said  that, 
bred  a  physician,  he  was  "out  of  place"  in  that  battle,  and 
"  died  as  the  fool  dieth  "  /  How  would  the  intimation  have 
been  received  that  Warren  and  his  associates  should  have 
waited  a  better  time"!^^ 

One  word,  gentlemen.  As  much  as  thought  is  better  than 
money,  so  much  is  the  cause  in  which  Lovejoy  died  nobler 
than  a  mere  question  of  taxes.  James  Otis  thundered  in 
this  hall  when  the  king  did  but  touch  his  pocket.  Imagine, 
if  you  can,  his  indignant  eloquence  had  England  offered  to 


BONAPARTE    AND    TOUSSAINT    L'OUVERTURE.         30 1 

put  a  gag  upon  his  lips.  The  question  that  stirred  the 
Revolution  touched  our  civil  interests.  This  concerns  us 
not  only  as  citizens,  but  as  immortal  beings.  Wrapped  up 
in  its  fate,  saved  or  lost  with  it,  are  not  only  the  voice  of  the 
statesman,  but  the  instructions  of  the  pulpit  and  the  progress 
of  our  faith. 


NAPOLEON    BONAPARTE   AND    TOUSSAINT    L'OUVERTURE. 

WENDELL  PHILLIPS. 

IT  was  1801.  At  this  time  Europe  concluded  the  Peace 
of  Amiens,  and  Napoleon  took  his  seat  on  the  throne  of 
France.  He  glanced  across  the  Atlantic,  and,  with  a  single 
stroke  of  his  pen,  reduced  Cayenne  and  Martinique  back 
into  chains.  He  then  said  to  his  council :  "  What  shall  I  do 
with  St.  Domingo?  "  The  slaveholders  said:  "Give  it  to  us." 
But  Colonel  Vincent,  who  had  been  private  secretary  to 
Toussaint  L'Ouverture,  wrote  to  Napoleon,  saying,  "  Sire, 
leave  it  alone;  it  is  the  happiest  spot  in  your  dominions.  God 
raised  Toussaint  to  govern ;  races  melt  under  his  hand.  He 
has  saved  you  this  island."  Napoleon  is  said  to  have 
remarked :  "  I  have  sixty  thousand  idle  troops  ;  I  must  find 
them  something  to  do."  What  he  meant  to  say  was  :  "  I  am 
about  to  seize  the  crown;  I  dare  not  do  it  in  the  faces  of 
sixty  thousand  republican  soldiers.  I  must  give  them  work 
at  a  distance  to  do."  It  was  against  this  man,  Toussaint 
L'Ouverture,  who  was  above  the  lust  of  gold,  pure  in  private 
life,  generous  in  the  use  of  his  power,  that  Napoleon  sent  his 
army. 

Mounting  his  horse  and  riding  to  the  eastern  end  of  the 
island,  Toussaint  looked  out  on  a  sight  such  as  no  native 
had  ever  seen  before.  Sixty  ships  of  the  line,  crowded  by 


3O2          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

the  best  soldiers  of  Europe,  rounded  the  point.  They  were 
soldiers  who  had  never  yet  met  an  equal,  whose  tread,  like 
that  of  Caesar's,  had  shaken  Europe,  —  soldiers  who  had 
scaled  the  pyramids  and  planted  the  French  banners  on  the 
walls  of  Rome.  Toussaint  looked  a  moment,  counted  the 
flotilla,  let  the  reins  fall  on  the  neck  of  his  horse,  and 
exclaimed:  "All  France  is  come  to  Haiti;  they  can  only 
come  to  make  us  slaves,  and  we  are  lost  ! "  He  then 
recognized  the  only  mistake  of  his  life,  —  his  confidence  in 
Bonaparte,  which  had  led  him  to  disband  his  army. 

Returning  to  the  hills,  he  issued  the  only  proclamation 
which  bears  his  name  and  breathes  vengeance  :  "  My  chil- 
dren, France  comes  to  make  us  slaves.  God  gave  us  liberty; 
France  has  no  right  to  take  it  away.  Burn  the  cities,  destroy 
the  harvests,  tear  up  the  roads  with  cannon,  poison  the 
wells,  show  the  v/hite  man  the  hell  he  comes  to  make"  — 
and  he  was  obeyed.  When  the  great  William  of  Orange  saw 
Louis  XIV.  cover  Holland  with  troops,  he  said:  "Break 
down  the  dikes,  give  Holland  back  to  ocean  ";  and  Europe 
said :  "  Sublime !  "  When  Alexander  saw  the  armies  of 
France  descend  upon  Russia,  he  said:  "  Burn  Moscow,  starve 
back  the  invaders";  and  Europe  said:  "  Sublime  !  "  This 
black  saw  all  Europe  come  to  crush  him,  and  gave  to  his 
people- the  same\  heroic  example  of  defiance. 

Truthful  as  a  knight  of  old,  the  negro  was  cheated  by  his 
lying  foe.  Arrived  in  Paris,  Toussaint  was  flung  into  jail. 
A  little  later,  he  was  sent  to  the  castle  of  St.  Joux,  to  a 
dungeon  twelve  feet  by  twenty,  built  wholly  of  stone,  with  a 
narrow  window,  high  up  on  the  side,  looking  out  on  the 
snows  of  Switzerland. 

This  dungeon  was  a  tomb.  !ln  Josephine's  time,  a  young 
French  marquis  was  placed  there,  and  the  girl  to  whom  he 
was  betrothed  went  to  the  empress  and  prayed  for  his 
release.  Said  Josephine  to  her:  "  Have  a  model  of  it  made, 


L  OUVERTURE  S    PLACE    AMONG    GREAT    MEN.        303 

and  bring  it  to  me."  Josephine  placed  it  near  Napoleon. 
He  said  :  "  Take  it  away  ;  it  is  horrible."  She  put  it  on  his 
footstool,  and  he  kicked  it  from  him.  She  held  it  to  him  the 
third  time,  and  said :  "  Sire,  in  this  horrible  dungeon  you 
have  put  a  man  to  die."  "Take  him  out,"  said  Napoleon, 
and  the  girl  saved  her  lover.  In  this  tomb  Toussaint  was 
buried  ;  but  he  did  not  die  fast  enough.  The  commandant 
was  told  to  go  into  Switzerland,  to  carry  the  keys  of  the 
dungeon  with  him,  and  to  stay  four  days ;  when  he  returned 
Toussaint  was  found  starved  to  death. 

That  imperial  assassin  was  taken  twelve  years  after  to  his 
prison  at  St.  Helena,  planned  for  a  tomb,  as  he  had  planned 
that  of  Toussaint ;  and  there  he  whined  away  his  dying 
hours  in  pitiful  complaints  of  curtains  and  titles,  of  dishes 
and  rides.  God  grant  that,  when  some  future  Plutarch  shall 
weigh  the  great  men  of  our  epoch,  the  whites  against  the 
blacks,  he  shall  not  be  permitted  to  put  that  whining  child 
at  St.  Helena  into  one  scale,  and  into  the  other  the  negro 
meeting  death  like  a  Roman,  without  a  murmur  in  the  soli- 
tude of  his  icy  dungeon. 


TOUSSAINT   L'OUVERTURE'S   PLACE  AMONG  GREAT  MEN. 
WENDELL  PHILLIPS. 

THERE  are  three  tests  by  which  races  love  to  be  tried. 
The  first,  the  basis  of  all,  is  courage,  —  the  element  that 
says,  here  and  to-day,  "  This  continent  is  mine,  from  the 
lakes  to  the  gulf;  let  him  beware  who  seeks  to  divide  it." 
And  the  second  is  the  recognition  that  force  is  doubled  by 
purpose.  And  the  third  element  is  persistency,  endurance; 
first  a  purpose,  then  death  or  success.  In  the  time  you  lend 
me,  I  attempt  the  Quixotic  effort  to  convince  you  that  the 


304          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

negro  blood,  instead  of  standing  at  the  bottom  of  the  list,  is 
entitled,  if  judged  either  by  its  courage,  its  purpose,  or  its 
endurance,  to  a  place  as  near  ours  as  any  other  blood  known 
in  history. 

If  I  were  to  tell  you  the  story  of  Napoleon,  I  should  take 
it  from  the  lips  of  Frenchmen,  who  find  no  language  rich 
enough  to  paint  the  great  captain  of  the  nineteenth  century. 
Were  I  to  tell  you  the  story  of  Washington,  I  should  take  it 
from  your  hearts  —  you,  who  think  no  marble  white  enough 
on  which  to  carve  the  name  of  the  Father  of  his  Country. 
But  I  am  about  to  tell  you  the  story  of  a  negro  who  has  left 
hardly  one  written  line.  I  am  to  glean  it  from  the  reluctant 
testimony  of  Britons,  Frenchmen,  Spaniards,  —  men  who 
despised  him  as  a  negro  and  a  slave,  and  hated  him  because 
he  had  beaten  them  in  battle. 

You  remember  Macaulay  says,  comparing  Cromwell  with 
Napoleon,  that  Cromwell  showed  the  greater  military  genius. 
And  why?  Because  Cromwell  never  saw  an  army  until  he 
was  forty,  while  Napoleon  was  educated  from  a  boy  in  the 
best  military  schools  in  Europe.  This  man  never  saw  a 
soldier  until  he  was  fifty.  Cromwell  manufactured  his  army 
out  of  what  ?  Englishmen,  —  the  best  blood  in  Europe.  And 
with  it  he  conquered  what?  Englishmen, — their  equals. 
Toussaint  manufactured  his  army  out  of  what  ?  Out  of  what 
you  call  the  despicable  race  of  negroes,  debased,  demoralized 
by  two  hundred  years  of  slavery.  Yet  out  of  this,  as  you 
say,  despicable  mass,  he  forged  a  thunderbolt  and  hurled  it 
at  what  ?  At  the  proudest  blood  in  Europe,  the  Spaniard, 
and  sent  him  home  conquered;  at  the  most  warlike  blood  in 
Europe,  the  French,  and  put  them  under  his  feet ;  at  the 
pluckiest  blood  in  Europe,  the  English,  and  they  skulked 
home  to  Jamaica.  Now,  if  Cromwell  was  a  general,  at  least 
this  man  was  a  soldier. 

Further,    Cromwell   was   only  a   soldier;    his  fame  stops 


L  OUVERTURE  S    PLACE    AMONG    GREAT    MEN.        305 

there.  Not  one  line  in  the  statute  book  of  Britain  can  be 
traced  to  Cromwell.  The  state  he  founded  went  down  with 
him  to  his  grave.  But  this  man  no  sooner  put  his  hand  on 
the  helm  of  state  than  the  ship  steadied  with  an  upright 
keel,  and  he  began  to  evince  a  statesmanship  as  marvelous 
as  his  military  genius.  In  1800  this  negro  made  a  proclama- 
tion. It  runs  thus:  "  Sons  of  St.  Domingo,  come  home.  We 
never  meant  to  take  your  houses  or  your  lands.  The  negro 
only  asked  that  liberty  which  God  gave  him.  Your  houses 
wait  for  you;  your  lands  are  ready;  come  and  cultivate 
them."  And  from  Madrid  and  Paris,  Baltimore  and  New 
Orleans,  the  emigrant  planters  crowded  home  to  enjoy  their 
estates,  under  the  pledged  word  that  was  never  broken  — 
of  a  victorious  slave. 

Carlyle  has  said :  "  The  natural  king  is  one  who  melts  all 
wills  into  his  own."  At  this  moment  Toussaint  turned  to  his 
armies,  —  poor,  ill-clad,  and  half-starved,  —  and  said  to  them  : 
"  Go  back  and  work  on  these  estates  you  have  conquered, 
for  an  empire  can  be  founded  only  on  order  and  industry,  and 
you  can  learn  these  virtues  only  there."  And  they  went. 

I  would  call  him  Napoleon,  but  Napoleon  made  his  way 
to  empire  over  broken  oaths  and  through  a  sea  of  blood. 
This  man  never  broke  his  word.  "  No  retaliation  "  was  his 
great  motto  and  the  rule  of  his  life.  His  last  words,  uttered 
to  his  son  in  France,  were  these  :  "  My  boy,  you  will  one  day 
go  back  to  St.  Domingo ;  forget  that  France  murdered  your 
father."  I  would  call  him  Cromwell,  but  Cromwell  was  only 
a  soldier,  and  the  state  he  founded  went  down  with  him  into 
his  grave.  I  would  call  him  Washington,  but  the  great 
Virginian  held  slaves. 

You  think  me  a  fanatic  ;  for  you  read  history  not  with  your 
eyes,  but  with  your  prejudices.  But  when  Truth  gets  a 
hearing,  the  muse  of  history  will  put  Phocion  for  the  Greek, 
Brutus  for  the  Roman,  Hampden  for  England,  Fayette  for 


3O6          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

France,  choose  Washington  as  the  bright  consummate  flower 
of  our  earlier  civilization,  and  John  Brown,  the  ripe  fruit  of 
our  noonday ;  then,  dipping  her  pen  in  the  sunlight,  will 
write  in  the  clear  blue,  above  them  all,  the  name  of  the 
soldier,  the  statesman,  the  martyr,  —  Toussaint  L?  Oliver ture. 


DANIEL  O'CONNELL  THE  ORATOR. 

WENDELL  PHILLIPS. 

BROADLY  considered,  the  eloquence  of  Daniel  O'Connell 
has  never  been  equaled  in  modern  times.  Do  you  think  I 
am  partial  ?  I  will  vouch  John  Randolph,  of  Roanoke,  the 
Virginia  slaveholder,  who  hated  an  Irishman  almost  as  much 
as  he  hated  a  Yankee,  —  himself  an  orator  of  no  mean 
level.  Hearing  O'Connell,  he  exclaimed  :  "  This  is  the  man, 
these  are  the  lips,  the  most  eloquent  that  speak  English  in 
my  day."  I  think  he  was  right.  I  remember  the  solemnity 
of  Webster,  the  grace  of  Everett,  the  rhetoric  of  Choate.  I 
know  the  eloquence  that  lay  hid  in  the  iron  logic  of  Calhoun. 
I  have  melted  beneath  the  magnetism  of  Sergeant  S.  Pren- 
tiss,  of  Mississippi,  who  wielded  a  power  few  men  ever  had. 
But  I  think  all  of  them  together  never  surpassed,  and  no 
one  of  them  ever  equaled,  O'Connell. 

To  show  you  that  he  never  took  a  leaf  from  our  American 
gospel  of  compromise,  that  he  never  filed  his  tongue  to 
silence  on  one  truth,  fancying  so  to  help  another,  that  he 
never  sacrificed  any  race  to  save  even  Ireland,  let  me 
compare  him  with  Kossuth,  whose  only  merits  were  his  elo- 
quence and  his  patriotism.  When  Kossuth  was  in  Faneuil 
Hall  he  exclaimed  :  "  Here  is  a  flag  without  a  stain,  a  nation 
without  a  crime."  We  Abolitionists  appealed  to  him  :  "  O 


DANIEL  O  CONNELL  THE  ORATOR.        307 

eloquent  son  of  the  Magyar,  come  to  break  chains  !  Have 
you  no  word,  no  pulse  beat,  for  four  millions  of  negroes 
bending  under  a  yoke  ten  times  heavier  than  that  of  Hun- 
gary ?  "  He  answered  :  "  I  would  forget  anybody,  I  would 
praise  anything  to  help  Hungary."  O'Connell  never  said 
anything  like  that. 

When  I  was  in  Naples  I  asked  Sir  Thomas  Fowell  Buxton, 
a  Tory  :  "  Is  O'Connell  an  honest  man  ?  "  "  As  honest  a 
man  as  ever  breathed,"  said  he;  and  then  he  told  me  this 
story  :  "When,  in  1830,  O'Connell  entered  Parliament,  the 
anti-slavery  cause  was  so  weak  that  it  had  only  Lushington 
and  myself  to  speak  for  it.  And  we  agreed  that  when  he 
spoke  I  should  cheer  him,  and  when  I  spoke  he  should 
cheer  me ;  and  these  were  the  only  cheers  we  ever  got. 
O'Connell  came,  with  one  Irish  member  to  support  him.  A 
large  number  of  members,  whom  we  called  the  West  India 
interest,  the  slave  party,  went  to  him,  saying :  '  O'Connell, 
at  last  you  are  in  the  House,  with  one  helper.  If  you  will 
never  go  down  to  Freemason's  Hall  with  Buxton  and 
Brougham,  here  are  twenty-seven  votes  for  you  on  every 
Irish  question.  If  you  work  with  these  Abolitionists,  count 
us  always  against  you.' 

"  It  was  a  terrible  temptation.  How  many  a  so-called 
statesman  would  have  yielded  !  O'Connell  said :  '  Gentle- 
men, God  knows  I  speak  for  the  saddest  people  the  sun 
sees ;  but  may  my  right  hand  forget  its  cunning,  and  my 
tongue  cleave  to  the  roof  of  my  mouth,  if  to  save  Ireland, 
even  Ireland,  I  forget  the  negro  one  single, hour  !'  From 
that  day,"  said  Buxton,  "  Lushington  and  I  never  went  into 
the  lobby  that  O'Connell  did  not  follow  us." 

Some  years  afterward  I  went  to  Conciliation  Hall,  where 
O'Connell  was  arguing  for  repeal.  He  lifted  from  the  table 
a  thousand-pound  note  sent  from  New  Orleans,  and  said  to 
be  from  the  slaveholders  of  that  city.  Coming  to  the  front 


308          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

of  the  platform,  he  said  :  "  This  is  a  draft  of  one  thousand 
pounds  from  the  slaveholders  of  New  Orleans,  the  unpaid 
wages  of  the  negro.  Mr.  Treasurer,  I  suppose  the  treasury 
is  empty."  The  treasurer  nodded  to  show  him  that  it  was, 
and  he  went  on  :  "  Old  Ireland  is  very  poor  ;  but,  thank 
God,  she  is  not  poor  enough  to  take  the  unpaid  wages  of 
anybody.  Send  it  back."  That  was  the  man.  The  ocean 
of  his  philanthropy  knew  no  shore. 

As  an  orator,  nature  intended  him  for  our  Demosthenes. 
Never  since  the  great  Greek  has  she  sent  forth  any  one  so 
lavishly  gifted  for  his  work  as  a  tribune  of  the  people.  He 
had  a  magnificent  presence,  impressive  in  bearing,  massive 
like  that  of  Jupiter.  A  small  O'Connell  would  hardly  have 
been  an  O'Connell  at  all.  I  remember  Russell  Lowell  tell- 
ing us  that  Mr.  Webster  came  home  from  Washington  at  the 
time  the  Whig  party  thought  of  dissolution,  and  went  down 
to  Faneuil  Hall  to  protest.  Drawing  himself  to  his  loftiest 
proportions,  his  brow  clothed  with  thunder,  he  said  to  the 
listening  thousands  :  "  Gentlemen,  I  am  a  Whig,  a  Massa- 
chusetts Whig,  a  revolutionary  Whig,  a  constitutional  Whig, 
a  Faneuil  Hall  Whig.  If  you  break  the  Whig  party,  where 
am  7  to  go  ? "  And,  says  Lowell :  "  We  held  our  breath, 
thinking  where  he  could  go.  If  he  had  been  five  feet  three 
we  should  have  said  :  '  Who  cares  where  you  go  ? ' '  So  it 
was  with  O'Connell.  There  was  something  majestic  in  his 
presence  before  he  spoke  ;  and  he  added  to  it  what  Webster 
had  not,  what  Clay  might  have  lent,  —  that  magnetism  that 
melts  all  hearts  into  one. 

Then  he  had  a  voice  that  covered  the  gamut.  I  heard 
him  once  say :  "  I  send  my  voice  across  the  Atlantic,  career- 
ing like  the  thunderstorm  against  the  breeze,  to  tell  the 
slaveholder  of  the  Carolinas  that  God's  thunderbolts  are 
hot,  and  to  remind  the  bondsman  that  the  dawn  of  his 
redemption  is  near."  And  you  seemed  to  hear  his  voice 


O'CONNELL'S  POWER  OVER  THE  IRISH  PEOPLE.    309 

come  echoing  back  from  the  Rocky  Mountains.  Then,  with 
the  slightest  possible  Irish  brogue,  he  would  tell  a  story  at 
which  all  Exeter  Hall  shook  with  laughter;  and  the  next 
moment,  as  he  spoke  with  the  tears  in  his  voice,  five  thou- 
sand men  wept.  And  all  the  while  no  effort.  He  seemed 
only  breathing. 


DANIEL  O'CONNELL'S  POWER  OVER  THE  IRISH  PEOPLE. 

WENDELL  PHILLIPS. 

WEBSTER  could  awe  a  senate,  Everett  could  charm  a  col- 
lege, and  Choate  could  cheat  a  jury,  Clay  could  magnetize 
the  million,  and  Corwin  lead  them  captive.  But  O'Connell 
was  Clay,  Corwin,  Choate,  Everett,  and  Webster  in  one. 
Before  the  courts,  logic  ;  at  the  bar  of  the  senate,  unanswer- 
able ;  on  the  platform,  grace,  wit,  and  pathos ;  before  the 
masses,  a  whole  man.  Carlyle  says :  "  He  is  God's  own 
anointed  king  whose  single  word  melts  all  wills  into  his." 
This  describes  O'Connell. 

He  held  the  masses  free  but  willing  subjects  in  his  hand. 
Behind  them  were  ages  of  bloodshed ;  every  rising  had 
ended  at  the  scaffold.  O'Connell  said  :  "  Follow  me  ;  put 
your  feet  where  mine  have  trod,  and  a  sheriff  shall  never 
lay  hand  on  your  shoulder."  And  the  great  lawyer  kept  his 
pledge. 

This  unmatched,  long-continued  power  almost  passes 
belief.  You  can  only  appreciate  it  by  comparison.  Let 
me  carry  you  back  to  the  mob  year  of  1835,  m  tnig  country, 
when  the  Abolitionists  were  hunted;  when  the  streets  roared 
with  riot ;  when  from  Boston  to  Baltimore,  from  St.  Louis  to 
Philadelphia,  a  mob  took  possession  of  every  city ;  when 
private  houses  were  invaded  and  public  halls  were  burned, 


3IO  THE    NEW    CENTURY    SPEAKER. 

press  after  press  was  thrown  into  the  river,  and  Lovejoy 
baptized  freedom  with  his  blood.  You  remember  it.  Re- 
spectable journals  warned  the  mob  that  they  were  playing 
into  the  hands  of  the  Abolitionists.  Webster  and  Clay  and 
the  staff  of  Whig  statesmen  told  the  people  that  the  truth 
floated  farther  on  the  shouts  of  the  mob  than  the  most 
eloquent  lips  could  carry  it.  But  law-abiding,  Protestant, 
educated  America  could  not  be  held  back.  Neither  Whig 
chiefs  nor  respectable  journals  could  keep  these  people 
quiet. 

Go  to  England.  When  the  Reform  Bill  of  1831  was 
thrown  out  from  the  House  of  Lords,  the  people  were  tu- 
multuous ;  and  Melbourne  and  Grey,  Russell  and  Brougham, 
Lansdowne,  Holland,  and  Macaulay,  the  Whig  chiefs,  cried 
out  :  "  Don't  violate  the  law ;  you  help  the  Tories  !  Riots 
put  back  the  bill."  But  quiet,  sober  John  Bull,  law-abiding, 
could  ndt  do  without  it.  Birmingham  was  three  days  in 
the  hands  of  a  mob;  castles  were  burned;  Wellington 
ordered  the  Scotch  Greys  to  rough-grind  their  swords,  as  at 
Waterloo.  This  was  the  Whig  aristocracy  of  England. 

O'Connell  had  neither  office  nor  title.  Behind  him  were 
three  million  people  steeped  in  utter  wretchedness,  sore 
with  the  oppression  of  centuries,  ignored  by  statute.  For 
thirty  restless  and  turbulent  years  he  stood  in  front  of  them 
and  said :  "  Remember,  he  that  commits  a  crime  helps  the 
enemy."  And  during  that  long  and  fearful  struggle  I  do 
not  remember  one  of  his  followers  ever  being  convicted  of  a 
political  offense. 

There  is  no  such  record  in  our  history.  Neither  in  classic 
nor  in  modern  times  can  the  man  be  produced  who  held  a 
million  of  people  in  his  right  hand  so  passive.  I  do  not 
forget  your  soldiers,  orators,  or  poets  —  any  of  your  leaders. 
But  when  I  consider  O'Connell's  personal  disinterestedness ; 
his  eloquence,  almost  equally  effective  in  the  courts,  in  the 


IDOLS.  311 

senate,  and  before  the  masses  ;  that  sagacity  which  set  at 
naught  the  malignant  vigilance  of  the  whole  imperial  bar, 
watching  thirty  years  for  a  misstep  ;  when  I  see  the  sobriety 
and  moderation  with  which  he  used  his  measureless  power, 
and  the  lofty,  generous  purpose  of  his  whole  life  —  I  am 
ready  to  affirm  that  he  was,  all  things  considered,  the 
greatest  man  the  Irish  race  ever  produced. 


IDOLS. 

WENDELL  PHILLIPS. 

THE  honors  we  grant  mark  how  high  we  stand,  and  they 
educate  the  future.  The  men  we  honor,  and  the  maxims  we 
lay  down  in  measuring  our  favorites  show  the  level  and 
morals  of  the  time.  A  name  has  been  in  every  one's  mouth 
of  late,  and  men  have  exhausted  language  in  trying  to  ex- 
press their  admiration  and  their  respect.  The  courts  have 
covered  the  grave  of  Mr.  Choate  with  eulogy. 

Let  us  see  what  is  their  idea  of  a  great  lawyer.  We  are 
told  that  he  "  worked  hard " ;  "  he  never  neglected  his 
client " ;  "  he  flung  over  the  discussions  of  trie  forum  the 
grace  of  a  rare  scholarship  " ;  "  no  pressure  or  emergency 
ever  stirred  him  to  an  unkind  word."  A  ripe  scholar,  a 
profound  lawyer,  a  faithful  servant  of  his  client,  a  gentleman. 
This  is  a  good  record  surely.  What  he  earned  God  grant 
he  may  have  !  But  the  bar  that  seeks  to  claim  for  such  a 
one  a  place  among  great  jurists  must  itself  be  weak  indeed. 
Not  one  moral  trait  specified,  not  one  patriotic  act  men- 
tioned, not  one  patriotic  service  even  claimed. 

Look  at  Mr.  Webster's  idea  of  what  a  lawyer  should  be 
in  order  to  be  called  great,  in  the  sketch  he  drew  of  Jere- 
miah Mason,  and  notice  what  stress  he  lays  on  the  religious 


312          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

and  moral  elevation  and  the  glorious  and  high  purposes 
which  crowned  his  life !  Nothing  of  this  now  !  When 
Cordus,  the  Roman  senator  whom  Tiberius  murdered,  was 
addressing  his  fellows,  he  began  :  "  Fathers,  they  accuse  me 
of  illegal  words,  —  plain  proof  that  there  are  no  illegal  deeds 
with  which  to  charge  me."  So  with  these  eulogies,  —  words, 
nothing  but  words,  —  plain  proof  that  there  were  no  deeds 
to  praise. 

Yet  this  is  the  model  which  Massachusetts  offers  to  the 
pantheon  of  the  great  jurists  of  the  world  ! 

Suppose  we  stood  in  that  lofty  temple  of  jurisprudence  — 
on  either  side  of  us  the  statues  of  the  great  lawyers  of  every 
age  and  clime  —  and  let  us  see  what  part  New  England, 
—  Puritan,  educated,  free  New  England,  —  would  bear  in 
the  pageant.  Rome  points  to  a  colossal  figure,  and  says  : 
"  That  is  Papinian,  who,  when  the  Emperor  Caracalla  mur- 
dered his  own  brother  and  ordered  the  lawyer  to  defend  the 
deed,  went  cheerfully  to  death  rather  than  sully  his  lips  with 
the  atrocious  plea ;  and  that  is  Ulpian,  who,  aiding  his 
prince  to  put  the  army  below  the  law,  was  massacred  at  the 
foot  of  a  weak  but  virtuous  throne." 

And  France  stretches  forth  her  grateful  hands,  crying : 
"That  is  D'Aguesseau,  worthy,  when  he  went  to  face  an 
enraged  king,  of  the  farewell  his  wife  addressed  him  :  '  Go ! 
forget  that  you  have  a  wife  and  children  to  ruin,  and 
remember  only  that  you  have  France  to  save!" 

England  says  :  "  That  is  Coke,  who  flung  the  laurels  of 
eighty  years  in  the  face  of  the  first  Stuart,  in  defense  of  the 
people.  This  is  Selden,  on  every  book  of  whose  library 
you  saw  written  the  motto  of  which  he  lived  worthy : 
*  Before  everything,  Liberty!'  That  is  Mansfield,  silver 
tongued,  who  proclaimed : 

'  Slaves  cannot  breathe  in  England ;  if  their  lungs 
Receive  our  air,  that  moment  they  are  free.' 


WILLIAM    LLOYD    GARRISON.  313 

This  is  Romilly,  who  spent  life  trying  to  make  law  synony- 
mous with  justice,  and  succeeded  in  making  life  and  prop- 
erty safer  in  every  city  of  the  empire." 

Then  New  England  shouts :  "  This  is  Choate,  who  made 
it  safe  to  murder,  and  of  whose  health  thieves  asked  before 
they  began  to  steal." 


WILLIAM  LLOYD  GARRISON. 

WENDELL  PHILLIPS. 

WHEN  I  think  of  William  Lloyd  Garrison,  "  day  by  day 
grows  the  wonder  fresh  "  —  as  Melancthon  said  of  Luther 
—  at  the  ripeness  of  the  moral  and  intellectual  life  that  God 
gave  him  at  the  very  opening.  Think  of  the  mere  dates. 
Think  that  at  some  twenty-four  years  old,  while  Christianity 
and  statesmanship  were  wandering  in  the  desert,  aghast, 
amazed,  and  confounded  over  a  frightful  evil,  a  great  sin, 
this  boy  sounded,  found,  invented  the  talisman  :  "  Immedi- 
ate, unconditional  emancipation  on  the  soil." 

A  year  afterwards,  in  words  that  have  been  so  often 
quoted,  with  those  dungeon  doors  behind  him,  he  enters  on 
his  career.  In  January,  1831,  he  starts  the  publication  of 
the  Liberator,  advocating  the  immediate  abolition  of  slavery; 
and  with  the  sublime  pledge  :  "  I  will  be  as  harsh  as  truth 
and  as  uncompromising  as  justice.  On  this  subject  I  do 
not  wish  to  speak  or  write  with  moderation.  I  will  not 
equivocate ;  I  will  not  excuse  ;  I  will  not  retreat  a  single 
inch  ;  and  I  will  be  heard" 

Then  began  an  agitation  which  for  the  marvel  of  its 
origin,  the  majesty  of  its  purpose,  is  without  a  parallel  in 
history  since  Luther.  Here  were  the  brain  and  the  heart ; 
here  was  the  statesman-like  intellect,  brave  as  Luther,  which 


314          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

confronted  the  logic  of  South  Carolina  with  an  assertion 
direct  and  broad  enough  to  make  an  issue  and  necessitate  a 
conflict  of  two  civilizations.  Calhoun  said :  "  Slavery  is 
right"  Webster  and  Clay  shrunk  from  him  and  evaded  his 
assertion.  Garrison,  alone  at  that  time,  met  him  face  to 
face,  proclaiming  slavery  a  sin. 

More  than  this,  Garrison  was  the  first  man  to  begin  a 
movement  designed  to  annihilate  slavery.  He  announced 
the  principle,  arranged  the  method,  gathered  the  forces, 
enkindled  the  zeal,  started  the  argument,  and  finally  mar- 
shaled the  nation  for  and  against  the  system  in  a  conflict 
that  came  near  rending  the  Union. 

"  Give  me  a  spot,"  said  Archimedes,  "  and  I  will  move  the 
world."  O'Connell  leaned  back  on  three  millions  of  Irish- 
men, all  on  fire  with  sympathy.  Cobden's  hands  were  held 
up  by  the  whole  manufacturing  interest  of  Great  Britain. 
But  this  boy  stood  alone,  utterly  alone,  at  first.  There  was 
no  sympathy  anywhere  ;  his  hands  were  empty.  One  single 
penniless  comrade  was  his  only  helper.  Starving  on  bread 
and  water,  he  could  command  the  use  of  types,  —  that  was 
all.  Trade  endeavored  to  crush  him  ;  the  intellectual  life  of 
America  disowned  him.  To  a  friend  who  remonstrated  with 
him  on  the  heat  and  severity  of  his  language,  he  said : 
"  Brother,  I  have  need  to  be  all  on  fire,  for  I  have  mountains 
of  ice  about  me  to  melt." 

And  yet  Garrison  lived  to  see  these  mountains  of  ice 
melting  about  him.  In  1842  Lindley  had  finished  the  rail- 
way at  Hamburg,  and  was  to  open  it,  when  the  great  fire 
broke  out.  The  self-satisfied  citizens  called  the  English- 
man to  see  how  well  their  six-penny  squirts  and  old  pails 
could  put  out  the  fire.  But  it  raged  on,  till  one-quarter  of 
the  city  was  in  ruins.  "  Mynheer  Lindley,  what  shall  we 
do  ?  "  cried  the  frightened  senators  of  Hamburg.  "  Let  me 
blow  up  a  couple  of  streets,"  he  answered.  "  Never,  never, 


PUBLIC    OPINION.  315 

never."  Another  day  of  flames.  "  Mynheer  Lindley,  blow 
up  the  streets  and  welcome;  only  save  us."  "Too  late," 
replied  the  engineer.  "  To  do  that  I  must  blow  up  the 
Senate  House  itself."  They  debated  an  hour,  and  then 
said  :  "  Mynheer  Lindley,  save  us  in  your  own  way."  In 
one  hour  the  Senate  House  was  in  ruins  and  the  fire  ceased. 

"  Be  quiet,  Mr.  Garrison,"  said  1830.  "  Don't  you  see 
our  six-penny  colonization  society,  and  our  old-fashioned 
pails  of  church  resolves,  nicely  copied  and  laid  away  in  ves- 
tries ?  See  how  we  '11  put  out  this  fire  of  slavery."  But  it 
burned  on  fiercer,  fiercer.  "  What  shall  we  do  now  ?  "  asked 
startled  Whiggery.  "  Keep  the  new  states  free,  abolish 
slavery  in  the  District,  shut  the  door  against  Texas."  tf  Too 
much,"  said  Whiggery.  "  We  are  busy  now  making  Web- 
ster president  and  proving  that  Mr.  Everett  never  had  an 
anti-slavery  idea."  But  the  flames  roll  on.  Republicanism 
proposes  to  blow  up  a  street  or  two.  No,  no ;  nothing  but 
to  blow  up  the  Senate  House  will  do  ;  and  soon  frightened 
Hamburg  cries  :  "  Mynheer  Garrison,  Mynheer  Garrison, 
save  us  on  your  own  terms." 

This  boy  confronting  church,  commerce,  and  college,  this 
boy  with  neither  training  nor  experience,  seems  to  have 
understood  by  instinct  that  righteousness  is  the  only  thing 
which  will  finally  compel  submission,  —  that  one  with  God  is 
always  a  majority. 


PUBLIC  OPINION. 

WENDELL  PHILLIPS. 

REVOLUTIONS  are  not  made  ;  they  come.  A  revolution  is 
as  natural  a  growth  as  an  oak.  It  comes  out  of  the  past.  Its 
foundations  are  laid  far  back.  The  child  feels ;  he  grows 
into  a  man,  and  thinks ;  another,  perhaps,  speaks,  and  the 


3l6         THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

world  acts  out  the  thought.  And  this  is  the  history  of 
modern  society.  The  beginning  of  great  changes  is  like  the 
rise  of  the  Mississippi.  A  child  must  stoop  and  gather  away 
the  pebbles  to  find  it.  But  soon  it  swells  broader  and 
broader,  bears  on  its  ample  bosom  the  navies  of  a  mighty 
Republic,  fills  the  gulf,  and  divides  a  continent. 

I  remember  a  story  of  Napoleon  which  illustrates  my 
meaning.  We  are  apt  to  trace  his  control  of  France  to  some 
noted  victory,  to  the  time  when  he  camped  in  the  Tuileries, 
or  when*  he  dissolved  the  Assembly  by  the  stamp  of  his  foot. 
He  reigned  on  the  day  when  five  hundred  irresolute  men 
were  met  in  that  Assembly,  which  called  itself,  and  pretended 
to  be,  the  government  of  France. 

They  heard  that  the  mob  of  Paris  was  coming  the  next 
morning,  thirty  thousand  strong,  to  turn  them,  as  was  usual 
in  those  days,  out  of  doors.  And  where  did  this  seemingly 
great  power  go  for  its  support  and  refuge  ?  They  sent  Tal- 
lien  to  seek  out  a  boy  lieutenant,  —  the  shadow  of  an  officer, 
so  thin  and  pallid  that,  when  he  was  placed  on  the  stand 
before  them,  the  president  of  the  Assembly,  fearful,  if  the  fate 
of  France  rested  on  the  shrunken  form,  the  ashy  cheek  before 
him,  that  all  hope  was  gone,  asked  :  "Young 'man,  can  you 
protect  the  Assembly  ?  "  And  the  stern  lips  of  the  Corsican 
boy  parted  only  to  reply,  "  I  always  do  what  I  undertake." 
Then  and  there  Napoleon  ascended  his  throne;  and  the  next 
day,  from  the  steps  of  St.  jloche,  thundered  forth  the  cannon 
which  taught  the  mob  of  Paris,  for  the  first  time,  that  it  had 
a  master.  That  was  the  commencement  of  the  Empire. 

In  working  these  great  changes,  in  such  an  age  as  ours, 
the  so-called  statesman  has  far  less  influence  than  the  many 
little  men  who,  at  various  points,  are  silently  maturing  a 
regeneration  of  public  opinion.  This  is  a  reading  and  think- 
ing age,  and  great  interests  at  stake  quicken  the  general 
intellect.  Stagnant  times  have  been  when  a  great  mind, 


WHAT    WE    OWE    THE    PILGRIMS. 

anchored  in  error,  might  snag  the  slow-moving  current  of 
society.  Such  is  not  our  era.  Nothing  but  freedom,  justice, 
and  truth  is  of  any  permanent  advantage  to  the  mass  of 
mankind.  "  Establish  justice  and  secure  liberty." 


WHAT   WE  OWE  THE  PILGRIMS. 

WENDELL  PHILLIPS. 

THEY  say  that  Michael  Angelo  once  entered  a  palace  at 
Rome  where  Raphael  was  ornamenting  the  ceiling,  and  as 
Angelo  walked  around  he  saw  that  all  the  figures  were  too 
small  for  the  room.  Stopping  a  moment,  he  sketched  on  one 
side  an  immense  head,  proportioned  to  the  chamber ;  and 
when  his  friends  asked  him  why,  his  reply  was  :  "  I  criticise 
by  creation,  not  by  finding  fault." 

Carver  and  Bradford  and  the  other  Pilgrim  fathers  did  so. 
They  came  across  the  water,  created  a  great  model  state, 
and  bade  England  take  warning.  __The  Edinburgh  Reviewer 
may  be  seen  running  up  and  down  the  sides  of  the  Pilgrims, 
and  taking  their  measure — where  does  he  get  his  yardstick  ? 
He  gets  it  from  the  very  institutions  they  made  for  him. 
He  could  never  have  known  how  to  criticise  if  their  crea- 
tions had  not  taught  him. 

The  Puritans  believed  that  institutions  were  made  for 
man.  Europe  established  a  civilization  which,  like  that  of 
Greece,  made  the  state  everything,  the  man  nothing.  The 
man  was  made  for  the  institutions  ;  the  man  was  made  for 
the  clothes.  The  Puritans  said:  "  No,  let  us  go  out  and  make 
clothes  for  the  man  ;  let  us  make  institutions  for  men  !  " 

What  the  Puritans  gave  the  world  was  not  thought,  but 
ACTION.  Europe  had  ideas,  but  she  was  letting  "  I  dare  not 
wait  upon  I  would"  The  Puritans,  with  native  pluck,  launched 
out  into  the  deep  sea.  Men  who  called  themselves  thinkers 

v 


3l8          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

had  been  creeping  along  the  Mediterranean,  from  headland 
to  headland,  in  their  timidity;  the  Pilgrims  launched  boldly 
out  into  the  Atlantic,  and  trusted  God.  That  is  the  claim 
they  have  upon  posterity.  It  was  ACTION  that  made  them 
what  they  were. 

We  should  bear  in  mind  development  when  we  criticise 
the  Pilgrims,  —  where  they  would  be  to-day.  Indeed,  to  be 
as  good  as  our  fathers,  we  must  be  better.  Imitation  is  not 
discipleship.  When  some  one  sent  a  cracked  plate  to  China 
to  have  a  set  made,  every  piece  in  the  new  set  had  a  crack 
in  it.  The  copies  of  1620  and  1787  you  commonly  see  have 
the  crack,  and  very  large,  too.  Thee  and  thou,  a  stationary 
hat,  bad  grammar  and  worse  manners,  with  an  ugly  coat,  are 
not  George  Fox  in  1855.  You  will  recognize  him  in  any  one 
who  rises  from  the  lap  of  artificial  life,  flings  away  its 
softness,  and  startles  you  with  the  sight  of  a  MAN. 

Neither  do  I  acknowledge,  sir,  the  right  of  Plymouth  to 
the  whole  rock.  No,  the  rock  underlies  all  America ;  it  only 
crops  out  here.  It  has  cropped  out  a  great  many  times  in 
our  history.  You  may  recognize  it  always.  Old  Putnam 
stood  upon  it  at  Bunker  Hill  when  he  said  to  the  Yankee 
boys:  "  Don't  fire  till  you  see  the  whites  of  their  eyes." 
Ingraham  had  it  for  ballast  when  he  put  his  little  sloop 
between  two  Austrian  frigates,  and  threatened  to  blow  them 
out  of  the  water  if  they  did  not  respect  the  broad  eagle  of 
the  United  States,  in  the  case  of  Koszta.  Jefferson  had  it 
for  a  writing-desk  when  he  drafted  the  Declaration  of  Inde- 
pendence and  the  "  Statute  of  Religious  Liberty"  for  Virginia. 
Lovejoy  rested  his  musket  upon  it  when  they  would  not  let 
him  print  at  Alton,  and  he  said:  "  Death,  or  free  speech  !  " 
Ay,  sir,  the  rock  cropped  out  again.  Garrison  had  it  for  an 
imposing  stone  when  he  looked  in  the  faces  of  seventeen 
millions  of  angry  men  and  printed  his  sublime  pledge,  "  I 
will  not  retreat  a. single  inch,  and  I  will  be  heard." 


GEORGE   WILLIAM   CURTIS. 


3*9 


A  RUB-A-DUB  AGITATION. 


BURGOYNE'S  SURRENDER. 


PAUL  REVERE'S  RIDE. 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  PURITANISM. 


THE  CAUSE  OF  BUNKER  HILL. 


SAMUEL  ADAMS  AND  THE  NEW  ENGLAND  TOWN  MEETING. 


320 


A    RUB-A-DUB    AGITATION.  321 

A   RUB-A-DUB   AGITATION. 

GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS. 

THE  passionate  chapter  in  our  history  known  as  the 
Abolition  Agitation  is  the  story  of  the  vindication  of  free 
speech  in  the  United  States. 

So  long  as  people  said  :  "Oh,  yes,  slavery  is  a  very  bad 
thing,  but  there  is  nothing  to  be  done  about  it,  you  know/' 
the  Southern  Policy  smiled  politely  and  worked  diligently  at 
its  web  in  which  the  country  was  entangled.  But  when  a  few 
other  people  said:  "Yes,  slavery  is  a  very  bad  thing,  and  will 
destroy  the  nation  if  the  nation  does  not  destroy  it,"  Mr. 
Calhoun  knew  that  the  open  battle  was  at  hand.  He  sprang 
to  his  feet.  "  What  does  it  mean?"  asked  he,  the  representa- 
tive man  of  the  South,  of  Mr.  Webster,  the  representative  of 
the  North.  "Nothing,  nothing;  a  rub-a-dub  agitation," 
replied  Mr.  Webster.  A  rub-a-dub  agitation  !  Oh,  yes,  so 
it  was.  It  was  the  beating  of  the  roll  call  at  midnight.  The 
camp  slept  no  more  ;  and  morning  breaks  at  last  in  the  storm 
of  a  war  that  shakes  the  world. 

Not  in  November,  1837,  when  Elijah  Lovejoy  was  shot 
dead  in  Illinois  for  exercising  his  plainest  right,  as  I  am 
doing  now  ;  not  in  October,  1835,  when  Garrison  was  mobbed 
in  Boston  for  saying  that  slavery  was  wrong ;  but  in  October, 
1833,  —  when,  in  the  city  of  New  York,  a  body  of  men  met 
in  Tammany  Hall  in  response  to  an  invitation  signed  "Many 
Southrons,"  and,  marching  to  the  Chatham  Street  chapel  to 
rout  a  peaceful  meeting  for  discussion,  marched  against  the 
rights  of  every  American  citizen,  against  the  Union  and  the 
government,  —  from  that  moment  the  cause  of  the  Abolitionist 
was  the  cause  of  America. 

The  fight  was  desperate,  and  the  Southern  Policy,  already 
firmly  intrenched,,  seemed  to  conquer.  In  the  summer  of 


322  THE    NEW    CENTURY    SPEAKER. 

1859,  Alexander  H..  Stephens,  of  Georgia,  comes  home  from 
Congress  to  his  friends  and  neighbors  and  tells  them  why 
he  is  going  to  retire  from  public  life.  "  There  is  not  now  a 
spot  of  the  public  territory  of  the  United  States,"  he  said, 
"  over  which  the  national  flag  floats  where  slavery  is  excluded 
by  the  law  of  Congress,  and  the  highest  tribunal  of  the  land 
has  decided  that  Congress  has  no  power  to  make  such  a  law. 
At  this  time  there  is  not  a  ripple  upon  the  surface.  The 
country  was  never  in  a  profounder  quiet." 

He  stops  ;  he  sits  down.  The  summer  sun  sets  over  the 
fields  of  Georgia,  the  land  of  peace.  Good  night,  Mr. 
Stephens  —  a  long  good  night.  Look  from  your  window  — 
how  calm  it  is  !  Upon  Missionary  Ridge,  upon  Lookout 
Mountain,  upon  the  heights  of  Dalton,  upon  the  spires  of 
Atlanta,  silence  and  solitude, —  the  peace  of  the  Southern 
Policy  of  Slavery  and  Death.  But  look  !  hark  !  Through 
the  great  five  years  before  you  a  light  is  shining  —  a  sound 
is  ringing.  It  is  the  gleam  of  Sherman's  bayonets  ;  it  is  the 
roar  of  Grant's  guns  ;  it  is  the  red  daybreak  and  wild  morning 
music  of  peace  indeed, — the  peace  of  National  Life  and 
Liberty. 

Yes,  it  was  a  rub-a-dub  agitation.  It  was  a  drumbeat  that 
echoed  over  every  mountain  and  penetrated  every  valley  and 
roused  the  heart  of  the  land  to  throb  in  unison.  To  that 
rub-a-dub  a  million  men  appeared  at  Lincoln's  call,  and 
millions  of  women  supported  them.  To  that  rub-a-dub  the 
brave  and  beautiful  and  beloved  went  smiling  to  their  graves. 
To  that  rub-a-dub  Grant  forced  his  fiery  way  through  the 
Wilderness ;  following  its  roll,  Sherman  marched  to  the  sea, 
and  Sheridan  scoured  the  Shenandoah.  The  rattling  shots 
of  the  Kearsarge  sinking  the  Alabama  were  only  the  far-off 
echoes  of  that  terrible  drumbeat.  To  that  rub-a-dub  the 
walls  of  the  rebellion  and  of  slavery  crumbled  at  last  and 
forever,  as  the  walls  of  Jericho  before  the  horns  of  Israel. 


BURGOYNE  S    SURRENDER.  323 

That  tremendous  rub-a-dub,  played  by  the  hearts  and  hands 
of  a  great  people,  fills  the  land  to-day  with  the  celestial  music 
of  liberty,  and  to  that  people,  still  thrilling  with  that  music, 
we  appeal  ! 

(From  Orations  and  Addresses  by  GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS,  copyright,  1894,  by 
Harper  and  Brothers.) 


BURGOYNE'S   SURRENDER. 

GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS. 

ON  the  morning  of  October  7,  at  ten  o'clock,  fifteen 
hundred  of  the  best  troops  in  the  world,  led  by  four  of  the 
most  experienced  and  accomplished  generals,  moved  in  three 
columns  toward  the  left  of  the  American  position  into  a  field 
of  wheat.  They  began  to  cut  forage.  Startled  by  the  rattling 
picket  fire,  the  American  drums  beat  to  arms,  and  the  British 
approach  was  announced  at  headquarters. 

The  Americans  dashed  forward,  opened  to  the  right  and 
left,  flanked  the  enemy,  struck  him  with  a  blasting  fire,  then 
closed,  and,  grappling  hand  to  hand,  the  mad  mass  of  com- 
batants swayed  and  staggered  for  half  an  hour,  five  times 
taking  and  retaking  a  single  gun.  At  the  first  fire  upon  the 
left,  the  Virginia  sharpshooters,  shouting  and  blazing  with 
deadly  aim,  rushed  forward  with  such  fury  that  the  appalled 
British  right  wavered  and  recoiled.  While  it  yet  staggered 
under  the  blow  of  Virginia,  New  England  swept  up,  and  with 
its  flaming  muskets  broke  the  English  line,  which  wildly  fled. 
It  reformed  and  again  advanced,  while  the  whole  American 
force  dashed  against  the  British  center,  held  by  the  Germans, 
whose  right  and  left  had  been  uncovered.  The  British  Gen- 
eral Fraser  hurried  to  their  aid.  With  fatal  aim  an  American 
sharpshooter  fired  and  Fraser  fell.  With  him  sank  the 
British  heart.  The  whole  American  line,  jubilant  with  certain 


324          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

victory,  advancing,  Burgoyne  abandoned  his  guns  and  ordered 
a  retreat  to  his  camp. 

The  British,  dismayed,  bewildered,  overwhelmed,  were 
scarcely  within  their  redoubts  when  Benedict  Arnold  came 
spurring  up,  —  Benedict  Arnold,  whose  name  America  does 
not  love,  who,  volunteering  to  relieve  Fort  Stanwix,  had,  by 
the  mere  terror  of  his  coming,  blown  St.  Leger  away,  and 
who,  on  September  19,  had  saved  the  American  left,  —  Bene- 
dict Arnold,  whom  battle  stung  to  fury,  now  whirled  from 
end  to  end  of  the  American  line,  hurled  it  against  the  Great 
Redoubt,  driving  the  enemy  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet.  He 
then,  flinging  himself  to  the  extreme  right,  and  finding  there 
the  Massachusetts  brigade,  swept  it  with  him  to  the  assault, 
and,  streaming  over  the  breastworks,  scattered  the  Bruns- 
wickers  who  defended  them,  killed  their  colonel,  and  gained 
and  held  the  point  which  commanded  the  entire  British  posi- 
tion. At  the  same  moment  his  horse  was  shot  under  him, 
and  he  sank  to  the  ground,  wounded  in  the  leg  that  had  been 
wounded  at  Quebec. 

Here,  upon  the  Hudson,  where  he  tried  to  betray  his 
country,  —  here,  upon  the  spot  where,  in  the  crucial  hour  of 
the  Revolution,  he  illustrated  and  led  the  American  valor 
that  made  us  free  and  great,  let  us  recall,  for  one  brief 
instant  of  infinite  pity,  the  name  that  has  been  justly  execrated 
for  a  century. 

Night  fell,  and  the  weary  fighters  slept.  Before  day 
dawned  Burgoyne,  exhausted  and  overwhelmed,  drew  off  the 
remainder  of  his  army,  and  the  Americans  occupied  his 
camp.  At  evening,  in  a  desolate  autumn  rain,  Burgoyne, 
who,  in  the  splendid  hour  of  his  first  advance  had  so  proudly 
proclaimed,  "  This  army  must  not  retreat,"  turned  to  fly. 
But  everywhere  he  was  too  late.  The  American  sharp- 
shooters hovered  around  him,  cutting  off  supplies,  and 
preventing  him  from  laying  roads.  Deserted  by  his  allies, 


PAUL  REVERE'S  RIDE.  32S 

his  army  half  gone,  with  less  than  five  days'  food,  with  no 
chance  of  escape,  Burgoyne  prepared  honorably  to  surrender. 
At  nine  o'clock  on  the  morning  of  this  day,  a  hundred 
years  ago,  he  signed  the  convention.  At  eleven  o'clock  his 
troops  marched  to  this  meadow,  the  site  of  old  Fort  Hardy, 
and,  with  tears  coursing  down  bearded  cheeks,  with  passion- 
ate sobs,  and  oaths  of  rage  and  defiance,  the  soldiers  kissing 
their  guns  with  the  tenderness  of  lovers,  or  with  sudden 
frenzy  knocking  off  the  butts  of  their  muskets,  and  the 
drummers  stamping  on  their  drums,  the  king's  army  laid 
down  their  arms. 

(From  Orations  and  Addresses  by  GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS,  copyright,  1894,  by 
Harper  and  Brothers.) 


PAUL   REVERE'S    RIDE. 

GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS. 

ON  Tuesday,  April  18,  1775,  Gage,  the  royal  governor, 
who  had  decided  to  send  a  force  to  Concord  to  destroy  the 
stores,  picketed  the  roads  from  Boston  into  Middlesex,  to 
prevent  any  report  of  the  intended  march  from  spreading 
into  the  country.  But  the  very  air  was  electric.  In  the 
tension  of  the  popular  mind,  every  sound  and  sight  was 
significant.  In  the  afternoon,  one  of  the  governor's  grooms 
strolled  into  a  stable  where  John  Ballard  was  cleaning  a 
horse.  John  Ballard  was  a  son  of  liberty ;  and  when  the 
groom  idly  remarked  in  nervous  English  "  about  what  would 
occur  to-morrow,"  John's  heart  leaped  and  his  hand  shook, 
and,  asking  the  groom  to  finish  cleaning  the  horse,  he  ran 
to  a  friend,  who  carried  the  news  straight  to  Paul  Revere. 

Gage  thought  that  his  secret  had  been  kept,  but  Lord 
Percy,  who  had  heard  the  people  say  on  the  Common  that 
the  troops  would  miss  their  aim,  undeceived  him.  Gage 


326          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

instantly  ordered  that  no  one  should  leave  the  town.  But 
Dr.  Warren  was  before  him,  and,  as  the  troops  crossed  the 
river,  Paul  Revere  was  rowing  over  the  river  farther  down 
to  Charlestown,  having  agreed  with  his  friend,  Robert  New- 
man, to  show  lanterns  from  the  belfry  of  the  Old  North 

Church: 

One,  if  by  land,  and  two,  if  by  sea, 

as  a  signal  of  the  march  of  the  British. 

It  was  a  brilliant  April  night.  The  winter  had  been 
unusually  mild  and  the  spring  very  forward.  The  hills  were 
already  green ;  the  early  grain  waved  in  the  fields,  and  the 
air  was  sweet  with  blossoming  orchards.  Under  the  cloud- 
less moon  the  soldiers  silently  marched,  and  Paul  Revere 
swiftly  rode,  galloping  through  Medford  and  West  Cambridge, 
rousing  every  house  as  he  went,  spurring  for  Lexington  and 
Hancock  and  Adams,  and  evading  the  British  patrols,  who 
had  been  sent  out  to  stop  the  news. 

Stop  the  news  !  Already  the  village  church  bells  were 
beginning  to  ring  the  alarm,  as  the  pulpits  beneath  them  had 
been  ringing  for  many  a  year.  In  the  awakening  houses 
lights  flashed  from  window  to  window.  Drums  beat  faintly 
far  away  and  on  every  side.  Signal  guns  flashed  and  echoed. 
The  watchdogs  barked ;  the  cocks  crew. 

Stop  the  news  !  Stop  the  sunrise  !  The  murmuring  night 
trembled  with  the  summons  so  earnestly  expected,  so  dreaded, 
so  desired.  And  as,  long  ago,  the  voice  rang  out  at  midnight 
along  the  Syrian  shore,  wailing  that  great  Pan  was  dead,  but 
in  the  same  moment  the  choiring  angels  whispered,  "  Glory 
to  God  in  the  highest,  for  Christ  is  born,"  so,  if  the  stern 
alarm  of  that  April  night  seemed  to  many  a  wistful  and  loyal 
heart  to  portend  the  passing  glory  of  British  dominion  and 
the  tragical  chance  of  war,  it  whispered  to  them  with 
prophetic  inspiration,  "Good  will  to  men;  America  is  born  !" 

There  is  a  tradition  that  long  before  the  troops  reached 


THE    SPIRIT    OF    PURITANISM.  327 

Lexington  an  unknown  horseman  thundered  at  the  door  of 
Captain  Joseph  Robbins  in  Acton,  waking  every  man  and 
woman  and  the  babe  in  the  cradle,  shouting  that  the  regulars 
were  marching  to  Concord  and  that  the  rendezvous  was  the 
old  North  Bridge.  Captain  Robbins'  son,  a  boy  of  ten 
years,  heard  the  summons  in  the  garret  where  he  lay,  and  in 
a  few  minutes  was  on  his  father's  old  mare,  a  young  Paul 
Revere,  galloping  along  the  road  to  rouse  Captain  Isaac 
Davis,  who  commanded  the  minute-men  of  Acton.  The 
company  assembled  at  his  shop,  formed,  and  marched  a  little 
way,  when  he  halted  them  and  returned  for  a  moment  to  his 
house.  He  said  to  his  wife:  "Take  good  care  of  the  children," 
kissed  her,  turned  to  his  men,  gave  the  order  to  march,  and 
saw  his  home  no  more.  Such  was  the  history  of  that  night 
in  how  many  homes  ! 

The  hearts  of  those  men  and  women  of  Middlesex  might 
break,  but  they  could  not  waver.  They  had  counted  the 
cost.  They  knew  what  and  whom  they  served;  and,  as  the 
midnight  summons  came,  they  started  up  and  answered, 
"  Here  am'  I  !  " 

(From  Orations  and  Addresses  by  GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS,  copyright,  1894,  by 
Harper  and  Brothers.) 


THE  SPIRIT   OF  PURITANISM. 

GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS. 

IN  Europe,  three  centuries  ago,  the  cause  of  the  people 
took  form  as  the  Protestant  Reformation,  and  transferred  to 
the  battlefield  was  the  thirty  years'  war.  In  England  — 
drawn  to  a  finer  point  in  the  sermons  of  stern  preachers  —  it 
was  known  as  Puritanism.  But  at  length  it  was  preaching 
and  debating  no  longer.  At  Edgehill,  John  Pym's  speeches 
had  become  pikes,  and  Charles'  falsehoods,  swords.  The 
Cavalier  fought  for  privilege  ;  the  Puritan  for  the  people. 


328  THE    NEW    CENTURY    SPEAKER. 

The  larger  and  generous  Puritanism  of  America  inspired 
the  Revolution.  They  were  Puritan  guns  whose  echo  is 
endless  upon  Bunker  Hill.  It  was  the  Puritan  spirit  that 
spoke  in  the  Declaration  of  Independence.  It  was  to  the 
Puritan  idea  that  Cornwallis  surrendered  at  Yorktown  ;  and 
eighty-three  years  later  it  was  the  Cavalier  who  again  sur- 
rendered to  the  Puritan  under  the  Appomattox  apple  tree. 

Our  good  friends,  the  Knickerbockers,  are  never  weary  of 
telling  us  that  our  fathers  were  sanctimonious  sniffers,  who 
rolled  up  their  eyes  and  snarled  psalms  through  their  noses, 
—  canting  hypocrites,  who  persecuted  Quakers  and  hung 
forlorn  old  women  for  witches.  Well,  Cromwell  and  his  men 
did  sing  hymns  to  some  purpose.  The  proudest  music  of  the 
Scotch  Highlands  was  the  psalmody  of  the  old  Covenanters, 
whose  lingering  echoes  still  haunt  those  misty  mountains. 
Massachusetts  certainly  persecuted  the  Quakers,  and  so  did 
New  York ;  and  the  negro  hangings  in  New  York  a  hundred 
and  forty  years  ago  are  as  atrocious  as  the  witch  hangings 
in  Salem. 

But  when  we  have  called  the  Puritan  a  sour-faced  fanatic, 
have  we  done  with  him  ?  Is  that  all  ?  Old  John  Adams  was 
a  small,  choleric,  and  dogmatic  man.  But  the  little,  dogmatic, 
and  testy  man  took  the  Continental  Congress,  took  the  Ameri- 
can colonies  in  his  arms  and  lifted  them  to  independence. 

I  was  one  day  talking  with  Charles  Sumner  upon  some 
public  question,  and,  as  our  conversation  warmed,  I  said  to 
him:  "  Yes,  but  you  forget  the  other  side."  He  brought  his 
clinched  hand  down  upon  the  table  till  it  rang  again,  and  his 
voice  shook  the  room  as  he  thundered  in  reply :  "  There  is 
no  other  side  !"  There  spoke  the  Puritan.  There  flamed 
the  unconquerable  spirit  which  swept  the  Stuarts  out  of 
England,  liberalized  the  British  Constitution,  planted  the 
Republic  in  America,  freed  the  slaves,  and  made  the  Union 
a  national  bond  of  equal  liberty. 


THE    CAUSE    OF    BUNKER    HILL.  329 

If  the  Puritans  snuffled  in  prayer,  they  smote  in  fight.  If 
they  sang  through  their  noses,  the  hymn  they  chanted  was 
liberty.  If  they  aimed  at  a  divine  monarchy,  they  have 
founded  the  freest,  most  enlightened,  most  powerful  Republic 
in  history.  So,  whether  it  was  John  Pym  moving  the  Grand 
Remonstrance  in  Parliament,  or  John  Milton  touching  the 
loftiest  stop  of  epic  song,  or  Oliver  Cromwell  and  his  Iron- 
sides raising  the  mighty  battle  cry  at  Worcester  and  Dunbar, 
"  Arise,  O  Lord,  and  scatter  thine  enemies  ! "  then,  putting 
spur  and  sweeping  forward  like  a  whirlwind  to  scatter  them, 
—  all  this  long  line  of  light  in  history  is  the  splendid  story 
of  Puritan  principle  and  Puritan  pluck. 

By  their  fruits,  not  by  their  roots,  ye  shall  know  them. 
Under  the  matted  damp  leaves  in  the  April  woods  of  New 
England,  straggling  and  burrowing  and  stretching  far  in 
darkness  and  in  cold,  you  shall  find  tough,  hard,  fibrous 
roots.  But  the  flower  they  bear  is  the  loveliest  and  sweetest 
of  all  flowers  in  the  year.  The  root  is  black  and  rough  and 
unsightly.  But  the  flower  is  the  mayflower.  The  root  of 
Puritanism  may  have  been  gloomy  bigotry,  but  the  flower 
was  Liberty  and  its  fruit. 

(From  Orations  and  Addresses  by  GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS,  copyright,  1894,  by 
Harper  and  Brothers.) 


THE  CAUSE   OF   BUNKER   HILL. 

GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS. 

EUROPEAN  Toryism  has  long  regarded  us  as  a  vulgar 
young  giant  sprawling  over  a  continent,  whose  limbs  were, 
indeed,  too  loose  and  ungainly  to  be  effective,  but  who  might 
yet  one  day  make  trouble  and  require  to  be  thrashed  into 
decency  and  order. 

When  Horace  Greeley  was  in  Paris,  he  was  one  morning 
looking  with  an  American  friend  at  the  pictures  in  the 


330          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

gallery  of  the  Louvre  and  talking  of  this  country.  "  The  fact 
is,"  said  Mr.  Greeley,  "that  what  we  need  is  a  darned  good 
licking."  An  Englishman,  who  stood  by  and  heard  the  con- 
versation, smiled  eagerly,  as  if  he  knew  a  nation  that  would 
like  to  administer  the  castigation.  "Yes,  sir,"  said  he  com- 
placently, rubbing  his  hands  with  appetite  and  joining  in  the 
conversation,  "that  is  just  what  you  do  want."  "But  the 
difficulty  is,"  continued  Mr.  Greeley  to  his  friend,  as  if  he 
had  heard  nothing,  "  the  difficulty  is  that  there  's  no  nation 
in  the  world  that  can  lick  us."  It  was  true  —  so  we  turned 
to  and  licked  ourselves.  And  it  seems  to  me  that  a  young 
giant  who  for  the  sake  of  order  and  humanity  scourges 
himself  at  home  is  not  very  likely  wantonly  to  insult  and 
outrage  his  neighbors. 

"  If  you  put  a  million  of  men  under  arms,"  said  Europe, 
"  you  will  inevitably  end  in  a  military  despotism."  And 
within  six  months  of  the  surrender  of  Lee  an  English  gentle- 
man found  himself  in  a  huge  warehouse  in  Chicago,  surrounded 
by  scores  of  clerks,  quietly  engaged  with  merchandise  and 
ledgers.  "  But  did  you  go  on  so  through  the  war  ?  "  asked 
the  gentleman.  "  Oh,  no,  sir.  That  young  man  was  a 
corporal,  that  was  a  lieutenant,  that  was  a  major,  that  was  a 
colonel.  Twenty-seven  of  us  were  officers  in  the  army." 
"  I-n-d-e-e-d ! "  said  the  Englishman.  And  all  Europe,  looking 
across  the  sea  at  the  same  spectacle,  magnified  by  hundreds 
of  thousands  of  citizens  quietly  reengaged  in  their  various 
pursuits,  echoed  the  astonished  exclamation:  "I-n-d-e-e-d  !  " 
For  it  saw  that  a  million  of  men  were  in  arms  for  the  very 
purpose  of  returning  to  their  offices  and  warehouses,  to  sell 
their  merchandise  and  post  their  ledgers  in  tranquillity.  Yes, 
the  great  army  that  for  four  years  shook  this  continent  with 
its  march  and  countermarch  was  only  the  Yankee  constable 
going  his  rounds. 

The  British  Tory  mind  did  not  believe  that  any  popular 


THE    NEW    ENGLAND    TOWN    MEETING.  331 

government  could  subdue  so  formidable  a  rebellion.  Mr. 
Gladstone  is  not  a  Tory,  but  even  he  said  :  "  Great  Britain 
could  not  do  it,  sir,"  and  what  Great  Britain  could  not  do  he 
did  not  believe  could  be  done.  Perhaps  he  would  have 
thought  differently  could  he  have  heard  what  a  friend  of 
mine  did  when  the  Massachusetts  Sixth  Regiment  passed 
through  New  York  on  its  way  to  Washington. 

It  was  the  first  sign  of  war  that  New  York  had  seen,  and, 
as  Broadway  stared  gloomily  at  the  soldiers  steadily  march- 
ing, my  friend  stepped  into  the  street  and,  walking  by  the 
side  of  one  of  the  ranks,  asked  the  soldier  nearest  him  from 
what  part  of  the  state  he  came.  The  soldier,  solely  intent 
upon  stepping  in  time,  made  his  reply  in  measure  with  the 
drumbeat,  "  From  Bunk-er  Hill ;  from  Bunk-er  Hill ;  from 
Bunk-er  Hill." 

Mr.  Gladstone  is  an  Englishman  and  a  scholar.  Had  he 
walked  by  the  side  of  that  soldier,  remembering  Cromwell's 
Ironsides,  who  trusted  in  God  and  kept  their  powder  dry,  I 
think  he  would  not  have  declared,  as  he  did,  that  "  Jefferson 
Davis  had  created  a  nation,"  but  he  would  rather  have  said: 
"  If  Bunker  Hill  sends  the  first  soldiers  to  this  war,  it  is 
already  decided.  My  lords  and  gentlemen,  John  Bull  had 
better  touch  no  American  bonds  which  Bunker  Hill  does  not 
indorse." 

(From  Orations  and  Addresses  by  GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS,  copyright,  1894,  by 
Harper  and  Brothers.) 


SAMUEL   ADAMS   AND   THE   NEW   ENGLAND  TOWN 
MEETING. 

GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS. 

UNTIL  1768  Samuel  Adams  did  not  despair  of  a  peaceful 
issue  of  the  quarrel  with  Great  Britain.  But  when,  in  May 
of  that  year,  the  British  frigate  Romney  sailed  into  Boston 


332          THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER. 

Harbor,  and  her  shotted  guns  were  trained  upon  the  town,  he 
saw  that  the  question  was  changed.  From  that  moment  he 
kn€w  that  America  must  be  free  or  slave. 

On  that  gray  December  evening,  two  years  later,  when  he 
rose  in  the  Old  South  and  in  a  clear,  calm  voice  said:  "  This 
meeting  can  do  nothing  more  to  save  the  country,"  and  so 
gave  the  word  for  the  march  to  the  tea  ships,  he  compre- 
hended more  clearly,  perhaps,  than  any  other  man  in  the 
colonies  the  immense  and  far-reaching  consequences  of  his 
words.  He  was  ready  to  throw  the  tea  overboard,  because 
he  was  ready  to  throw  overboard  the  king  and  Parliament 
of  England. 

During  the  ten  years  from  the  passage  of  the  Stamp  Act 
to  the  day  of  Lexington  and  Concord,  this  poor  man,  in  an 
obscure  provincial  town  beyond  the  sea,  was  engaged  with 
the  British  ministry  in  one  of  the  mightiest  contests  that 
history  affords.  Not  a  word  in  Parliament  that  he  did  not 
hear;  not  an  act  in  the  Cabinet  that  he  did  not  see.  With 
brain  and  heart  and  conscience  all  alive,  he  opposed  every 
hostile  order  in  council  with  a  British  precedent.  Against 
the  government  of  Great  Britain  he  arrayed  the  battery  of 
principles  impregnable  with  the  accumulated  strength  of 
centuries  of  British  conviction. 

He  was  not  eloquent,  like  Otis,  nor  scholarly,  like  Quincy, 
nor  all-fascinating,  like  Warren;  yet,  bound  heart  to  heart 
with  these  great  men,  his  friends,  the  plainest,  simplest, 
austerest  among  them,  he  gathered  all  their  separate  gifts, 
and,  adding  to  them  his  own,  fused  the  whole  in  the  glow  of 
that  untiring  energy,  that  unerring  perception,  that  sublime 
will  which  moved  before  the  chosen  people  of  the  colonies 
a  pillar  of  cloud  by  day,  of  fire  by  night. 

Intrenched  in  his  own  honesty,  the  king's  gold  could  not 
buy  him.  Enshrined  in  the  love  of  his  fellow  citizens,  the 
king's  writ  could  not  take  him.  And  when,  on  the  morning, 


THE    NEW    ENGLAND    TOWN    MEETING.  333 

the  king's  troops  marched  to  seize  him,  his  sublime  faith  saw 
beyond  the  clouds  of  the  moment  the  rising  sun  of  the 
America  that  we  behold ;  and,  careless  of  himself,  mindful 
only  of  his  country,  he  exultingly  exclaimed :  "  Oh,  what  a 
glorious  morning  !  " 

Yet  this  man  held  no  office  but  that  of  clerk  of  the 
Assembly,  to  which  he  was  yearly  elected,  and  that  of  con- 
stant moderator  of  the  town  meeting.  That  was  his  mighty 
weapon.  The  town  meeting  was  the  alarm  bell  with  which 
he  aroused  the  continent.  It  was  the  rapier  with  which  he 
fenced  with  the  ministry.  It  was  the  claymoLe.with  which 
he  smote  their  counsels.  It  was  the  harp  of  a  thousand 
strings  that  he  swept  into  a  burst  of  passionate  defiance,  or 
an  electric  call  to  arms,  or  a  proud  paean  of  exulting  triumph, 
defiance,  challenge,  and  exultation,  —  all  lifting  the  continent 
to  independence. 

His  indomitable  will  and  command  of  the  popular  con- 
fidence played  Boston  against  London,  the  provincial  town 
meeting  against  the  royal  Parliament.  So  long  as  Faneuil 
Hall  stands  Samuel  Adams  will  not  want  his  most  fitting 
monument ;  and  when  Faneuil  Hall  falls  its  name  with  his 
will  be  found  written  as  with  a  sunbeam  upon  every  faithful 
American  heart. 

(From  Orations  and  Addresses  by  GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS,  copyright,  1894,  by 
Harper  and  Brothers.) 


EXERCISES  IN    PRONUNCIATION. 


THE  following  words,  which,  with  a  few  exceptions  are  from  the  extracts  in 
THE  NEW  CENTURY  SPEAKER,  have  been  selected  for  exercises  in  pronuncia- 
tion. It  is  expected  that  the  student,  in  preparation  for  these  exercises,  will  con- 
sult the  dictionary  or  dictionaries  designated  by  the  instructor.  The  words  have 
been  chosen  so  as  to  direct  attention  especially  to  the  proper  sound  of  vowels,  the 
full  presentation  of  consonants  that  are  not  silent,  and  the  right  division  and 
accentuation  of  syllables. 


Accurate 

Achilles 

Adriatic 

^Eolian 

Agincourt 

Alar  ic 

Alcibiades 

A I  debar  an 

Alias 

Aliens 

Ally 

Alternate 

Amalfi 

Ameliorating 

Amen 

America 

Amiens 

Amphibious 

Amphitheater 

Anarchasis 

Anarchy 

Anatomist 

Andre 

Annihilate 

Antarcs 


Antinomians 

Antithetical 

Apennines 

Apostle 

Appomattox 

Appreciation 

Arab 

Arbaces 

Arbutus 

Archangel 

Archon 

Arctic 

Aristocrat 

Armada 

Armenia 

Asiatic 

Asmodean 

Asm  ode  us 

Asseveration 

Association 

Attitude 

August 

Aureole 

Aurora 

A  usterlitz 


Badajos 

Balaklava 

Balzac 

Baptismal 

Bartholdi 

Basilisk 

Bastile 

Beaconsfield 

Beelzebtib 

Behemoth 

Behring  (strait) 

Beloved  (adj.) 

Beneath 

Bengal 

Berlin 

Bestial 

Bestiality 

Bethlehem 

Biding 

Biographer 

Bivouac 

Blatant 

Blessed  (adj.) 

Boisterous 

Bombardment 


336 


EXERCISES    IN    PRONUNCIATION. 


Bombastic 

Coffin 

Denunciation 

Borysthenes 

Cognizance 

Deploy 

Bosphorus 

Coligny,  de 

Deprecation 

Bourbon 

Columns 

Depreciation 

Bravo 

Combatants 

Deranged 

Brazil 

Commentary 

Desaix 

Brethren 

Com  modus 

Desisted 

Brougham 

Commune 

Despicable 

Bulgaria 

Compensate 

Detail 

Buoy 

Comrades 

De  Tocqueville 

Buoyant 

Concentrate 

Detonation 

Burgoyne 

Concord 

Detour 

Butcher 

Confident 

Devastated 

Byzantine 

Confines 

Dignitary 

Confiscate 

Diplomatist 

Cadiz 

Congressional 

Disabled 

Cajoled 

Consul 

Disarms 

Cambronne 

Consummate 

Disaster 

Campagna 

Contemplate 

Disgraced 

Capitoline 

Continuity 

Disguise 

Caracalla 

Corps 

Disheveled 

Caribbean 

Counterscarp 

Dishonored 

Casualties 

Courteous 

Dismount 

Catching 

Courtesy 

Dissolve 

Caucasian 

Coxswain 

Dissonance 

Cauldron 

Croesus 

Drama 

Cawnpore 

Cromwell 

Dyspepsia 

Cayenne 

Crucial 

Cayuga 

Crusades 

Ecclesiastics 

Ceremony 

Crystallization 

Economic 

Charlemagne 

Curriculum 

Edinburgh 

Chattanooga 

Cuticle 

Education 

Chesapeake 

Cycles 

Egotism 

Chickamauga 

Czar 

Either 

Chinese 

Elba 

Chivalry 

D'Aguesseau 

Elbe 

Christian 

Daubs 

Electric 

Christianity 

Daunted 

Elysian 

Civilization 

Decades 

Emaciate 

Cceur  de  Lion 

Demonstrate 

Emaciated 

EXERCISES    IN    PRONUNCIATION. 


337 


Emendation 

Food 

Guerriere 

Empyrean 

Forensic 

Guillotine 

Enervate 

Formidable 

Guiteau 

Enfranchised 

Fortnight 

Guizot 

Enginery 

Fountain 

Gymnasium 

Enigma 

Fragmentary 

Enigmatic 

Fraternize 

Haiti 

Enthusiasm 

Fratricide 

Halcyon 

Enunciate 

Fraught 

Harass 

Environed 

Frequenters 

Hasten 

Epicurean 

Friends 

Haunt 

Epoch 

From 

Havelock 

Equable 

Fulmined 

Hawaii 

Eros 

Futile 

Hearth 

Euphemisms 

Hegira 

Evangelical 

Gaelic 

Height 

Evening 

Galileo 

Heinous 

Evident 

Gallows 

Hellenic 

Exasperate 

Gamut 

Henghist 

Executive 

Garibaldi 

Heraldic 

Executor 

Gaunt 

Herbage 

Exhausted 

Generally 

Herculean 

Exhilarating 

Genial 

Heroic 

Exist 

Genoa 

Heronry 

Expatriated 

Geyser 

History 

Exquisite 

Ghibelline 

Holidays 

Extirpate 

Giaour 

Homage 

Eyrie 

Gibbet 

Homeopathic 

Gibraltar 

Homogeneity 

Familiarity 

Gigantic 

Honest 

Faneuil 

Gist 

Horizon 

Faust 

Glacier 

Horologe 

February 

Glaucus 

Hospitable 

Federalist 

Gladiators 

Hostage 

Fidelity 

Gladstone 

Hovel 

Finance 

Glamor 

Hover 

Financial 

Gloucester 

Huguenot 

Fiord 

God 

Humble 

Floes 

Golgotha 

Humboldt 

Fonta  ineblea  u 

Grimy 

Humorous 

338 


EXERCISES    TX    PRONUNCIATION. 


lago 

Jerusalem 

Lineament 

Ibrahim  Pasha 

Jesuit 

Lisle 

Idea 

Jew 

Literature 

Idyl 

Joan  of  Arc 

Lithe 

Ignominy 

Jocund 

Livelong 

Illinois 

Joust 

Loathe 

Illusive 

Jovial 

Lodi 

Imbecile  (adj.) 

Jubilate 

Louisburg 

Incisive 

Judaic 

Loiiisiana 

Incoherent 

Jura 

Louvre 

Incomparable 

Juvenile 

Luc  know 

Indecorous 

Luxembourg 

Indissolubly 

Kaleidoscope 

Luxuriance 

Industry 

Kansas 

Luxurious 

Ineffably 

Katahdin 

Lyceum 

Inevitable 

Kearney 

Lycidas 

Infamous 

Kearsarge 

Inherent 

Kept 

Madeleine 

Inimitable 

Khartoum 

Magnanimity 

Inquiry 

Khedive 

Magyar 

Insatiate 

Khiva 

Maintenance 

Instead 

Knout 

Malevolent 

Interesting 

Kohinopr 

Manassas 

Interminable 

Koran 

Maniacally 

Intrepidly 

Kossuth 

Marauder 

Intrigue 

Koszta 

Marengo 

Iowa 

Martinique 

Irreparable 

Lacerate 

Measure 

Irrepressible 

Lachesis 

Medicis,  de 

Irresistible 

Lafayette 

Melodrama 

Isolation 

Languor 

Memorable 

Italian 

Laocoon 

Mercenaries 

Latent 

Micawber 

Jacobean 

Launched 

Michael 

Jamaica 

Learned  (adj.) 

Military 

Japanese 

Legend 

Militiamen 

Jaunt 

Legendary 

Miltiades 

Javelin 

Lenient 

Misolonghi 

Jean  Valjean 

Leyden 

Missiles 

Jena 

Libertines 

Mississippi 

EXERCISES    IN    PRONUNCIATION. 


339 


Missouri 

Obelisk 

Pleasure 

Moccasin 

Objurgate 

Plebeian 

Mockery 

Obligatory 

Plutarch 

Moliere 

Oblique 

Pompeii 

Momentous 

Obloquy 

Portentous 

Monk 

Oceanic 

Praetor 

Monolith 

Octavo 

Precedent 

Mont  Blanc 

Odious 

Predecessors 

Montcalm 

Officer 

Primate 

Montenegro 

Often 

Proscenium 

Montezuma 

Ominously 

Prussia 

Montmorency 

Opponent 

Psalm 

Morass 

Oppugner 

Pygmalion 

Moscow 

Orchestra 

Pyramidal 

Moslem 

Ordeal 

Pyrenees 

Municipal 

Organization 

Museum 

Orgies 

Quaff 

Orinoco 

Qualm 

Naiad 

Orion 

Quarantine  (n.) 

Napier 

Orison 

Quay 

Napoleonic 

Orpheus 

Quebec 

Nascent 

Osawatomie 

Querulous 

Naseby 

Ottoman 

Quincy 

Nationality 

Outmaneuvered 

Quirinal 

Naturalization 

Quixotic 

Navarre 

Pageant 

Quote 

Nearest 

Pandects 

Necropolis 

Parliament 

Recess 

Negotiate 

Patriotism 

Recreant 

Nemean 

Pauline 

Redolent 

Nemesis 

Pedestal 

Redoubtable 

Neva 

Pendulum 

Refluent 

Newfoundland 

Perfume 

Requiem 

New  Orleans 

Perpetuity 

Resignation 

Niagara 

Perturbation 

Retributive 

Nihilism 

Phidippides 

Revolted 

Nomad 

Philharmonic 

Ribaldry 

None 

Philip  pi 

Rio  Janeiro 

Philistine 

Rizzio 

Oaths 

Plateau 

Roanoke 

340 


EXERCISES    IN    PRONUNCIATION. 


Romance 

Sovereign 

Unfrequented 

Root 

Squire 

Uninteresting 

Rosecrans 

Stalwart 

Unprecedenetd 

Rothschilds 

Status 

Usage 

Route 

Staunch 

Usurpation 

Routed 

Stilicho 

Utah 

Ruffianism 

Stolid 

Russia 

Suakim 

Vagary 

Subtile 

Vanquish 

Sacrifice 

Suffice 

Varuna 

Saint     Germain     aux 

Sultan 

Vaunt 

Auxerrois 

Summarily 

Vehement 

Saladin 

Surcease 

Velaria 

Savonarola 

Surveillance 

Venezuela 

Sccsvola 

Venial 

Scinde 

Te  Deum 

Vera  Cruz 

Sciot 

Tenerife 

Versatile 

Seamstress 

Territory 

Vicar 

Sevastopol 

Testimony 

Vienna 

Sedan 

Thames 

Vindicative 

Seine 

Thermopylae 

Virile 

Sepoys 

Thyme 

Visor 

Sergeant 

Ticonderoga 

Vituperation 

Servile 

Tiny 

Vive  L'Empereur 

Sharon 

Titanic 

Voluntarily 

Shenandoah 

Toussaint  ISOuverture 

Vosges 

Shikar  poor 

Trafalgar 

Vulpine 

Shiloh 

Traversed 

Shone 

Treasure 

Waft 

Shriek 

Tremendous 

Wallenstein,  von 

Shrill 

Tripoli 

Warrior 

Sierras 

Triumvir 

Warwick 

Silhouette 

Tuileries 

Way 

Simultaneous 

Tumbril 

Westminster 

Sinai 

Turin 

Wherefore 

Slavic 

Which 

Somber 

Ulpian 

Windsor 

Sorceress 

Umbrageous 

Winkelried,  von 

Soudan 

Uncourteous 

Wolseley 

Souvenir 

Underneath 

Wolsey 

EXERCISES    IN    PRONUNCIATION.  341 

Wounded  Yarmouth  Zodiacal 

Wreathe  Yea  Zoological 

Wrestler  Yesterday  Zoroaster 

Yosemite  Zouave 

Xantippe  Youths  Zurich 

Xenophon  Zutphen 

Ximenes  Zealot  Zuyder  Zee 

Zeus  Zwingle 


ALPHABETICAL   LIST   OF  CONTENTS. 


Abraham  Lincoln James  A.  Garfield  .  .  .  263 

American  and  the  Corsican,  The  .  .  William  H.  Seward  .  .  285 

American  Shipbuilding James  G.  Elaine  ....  246 

Americanism Henry  Cabot  Lodge  .  .  .  181 

Amnesty  of  Jefferson  Davis,  The  .  .  James  G.  Elaine  ....  249 

Andre  and  Hale Chauncey  M.  Depew  .  .  190 

Appeal  to  Young  Men,  An  ....  James  A.  Garfield  .  .  .  257 

Army  of  the  Potomac,  The  ....  Chauncey  M.  Depew  .  .  191 

Blue  and  the  Gray,  The Henry  Cabot  Lodge  .  .  .  175 

Boat  Race,  The Thomas  Hughes  ....  i 

Burgoyne's  Surrender George  William  Curtis  .  323 

Capture  of  Andre,  The  .  .  .  .  .  Chauncey  M.  Depew  .  ,  187 

Capture  of  Lookout  Mountain,  The  .  Benjamin  F.  Taylor  .  .  4 

Career  of  Gordon,  The Frederick  /.  Swift  ...  6 

Catherine  de  Medicis William  M.  Punshon  .  .  8 

Cause  of  Bunker  Hill,  The  ....  George  William  Curtis  .  329 

Centralization  in  the  United  States  .  Henry  W.  Grady  .  .  .  232 

Chinese  Immigration James  G.  Elaine  ....  242 

Christian  Citizenship Charles  H.  Parkhurst  .  .  213 

Compromise  of  Principle Henry  Ward  Beecher  .  .  269 

Confederate  Sergeant,  The  .  .  .  .  Adapted 10 

Convict's  Death,  The Charles  Dickens  ....  12 

Corruption  of  Municipal  Government, 

The Charles  H.  Parkhurst .  .  209 

Cuba  and  Armenia Henry  Cabot  Lodge  .  .  .  166 

Culture  in  Emergencies Adapted 14 

Daniel  O'Connell  the  Orator  .  .  .  Wendell  Phillips .  ...  306 

Daniel  O'ConnelPs  Epitaph  ....  William  H.  Seward .  .  .  287 
Daniel  O'ConnelPs  Power  over  the 

Irish  People Wendell  Phillips  ....  309 


344       ALPHABETICAL  LIST  OF  CONTENTS. 

I'AGE 

Death  of  Garfield,  The James  G.  Blaine  .     .     .     .  241 

Defense     of     Alleged     Conspirators 
against   the   Michigan  Central 

Railroad  Company     ....  William  H.  Seward      .     .  291 

Destruction  of  Jerusalem,  The       .     .  Frank  D,  Bud  long  ...  16 
Doom  of  Claudius  and  Cynthia,  The 

(Abridged) Maurice  Thompson  ...  19 

Elements  of  National  Wealth,  The    .  James  G.  Blaine  ....  248 

Eulogy  on  Henry  Ward  Beecher   .     .  Joseph  Parker,  D.D.     .     .  21 

Fort  Wagner Anna  E.  Dickinson      .     .  24 

General  Thomas  at  Chickamauga  .     .  James  A.  Garfield    .     .     .  255 

General's  Client,  The Adapted 27 

Graves  of  Union   Soldiers  at  Arling- 
ton, The James  A.  Garfield    .     .     .  265 

Great  Peril  of  Unrestricted  Immigra- 
tion, The  Henry  Cabot  Lodge  .     .     .  177 

Greatness  of  Obedience,  The     .     .     .  Frederic  W.  Farrar      .     .  29 

Guiteau  the  Assassin John  K.  Porter    ....  31 

Heroism  of  Horatio  Nelson,  The  .     .  Frank  V.  Mills    ....  33 

Historic  Codfish,  The Richard  W.  Irwin   ...  35 

Home  Rule  for  Ireland     .     .     .     .     .  Chauncey  M.  Depew     .     .  201 

Homes  of  the  People Parke  Godwin      ....  39 

Idols Wendell  Phillips  .  •   ...  311 

Immortality  of  True  Patriotism      .     .  James  A.  Garfield    .     .     .  259 

Jean  Valjean's  Sacrifice Victor  Hugo 41 

John  A.  Logan George  R.  Peck     ....  47 

John  Brown  of  Osawatomie  ....     Anonymous 45 

Knights  of  Labor T.  V.  Powderly   ....  49 

Last  Night  of  Misolonghi,  The      .     .  Edwin  A.  Grosvenor    .     .  52 

Law  and  Humanity Raymond  N.  Kellogg    .     .  56 

Lawyer  and  Free  Institutions,  The    .  Chauncey  M.  Depew     .     .  198 

Legacy  of  Grant,  The Chauncey  M.  Depew     .     .  194 

"  Little  David "  of  Nations,  The    .     .  William  C.  Duncan      .     .  58 

Loss  of  the  "  Arctic  " Henry  Ward  Beecher  .     .  276 

Macaulay William  M.  Punshon  .     .  61 

Macaulay's  Prophecy James  A.  Garfield    .     .     .  261 

Man  for  the  Crisis,  The Adapted 63 

Mission  of  Thomas  Hood,  The      .     .     Adapted 67 

Moral  Courage Frederic  W.  Farrar      .     .  69 

Moral  Crisis,  A Charles  //.  Parkhurst  .     .  211 


ALPHABETICAL  LIST  OF  CONTENTS.        345 

PAGE 

Murder  of  Lovejoy,  The Wendell  Phillips  ....  299 

Napoleon   Bonaparte  and  Toussaint 

L'Ouverture Wendell  Phillips .     .     .     .  301 

Napoleon's    Ambition   and    Shelley's 

Doubt William  De  Shon     ...  71 

National  Flag,  The Henry  Ward  Beecher  .     .  274 

Negro  in  American  History,  The  .     .  Frank  F.  Laird  ....  74 

New  Englander  in  History,  The    .     .  //.  L.  Wayland    ....  76 

New  South,  The Henry  W.  Grady      ...  234 

North  and  the  African,  The       .     .     .  Henry  Ward  Beecher   .     .  278 

"Old  Ironsides" Henry  Cabot  Lodge  .     .     .  161 

Opening  of  the  Mississippi  in   1862, 

The William  E.  Lewis     ...  78 

Orator's  Cause,  The John  D.  Wright  ....  80 

Pathos    of   Thackeray  and  Dickens, 

The Julien  M.  Elliott      ...  82 

Paul  Revere's  Ride George  William  Curtis      .  325 

Permanence  of  Grant's  Fame,  The     .  James  G.  Blaine  ....  244 

Piety  and  Civic  Virtue Charles  H.  Parkhtirst .     .  215 

Place  of  Athletics  in  College  Life,  The  Chauncey  M.  Depew     .     .  196 

Plea  for  Enthusiasm,  A Anonymous 87 

Plea  for  William  Freeman,  A    ...  William  H.  Seward      .     .  283 

Poetry  the  Language  of  Symbolism   .  Frederick  W.  Robertson     .  85 

Prohibition  in  Atlanta Henry  W.  Grady      .     .     .  227 

Public  Opinion Wendell  Phillips  .     .     .     .  315 

Pulpit  and  Politics,  The Charles  H.  Parkhurst  .     .  217 

Puritan  of  Essex  County,  The  .     .     .  Henry  Cabot  Lodge  .     .     .  179 

Race,  The Lew  Wallace 89 

Realism  of  Dickens,  The William  A.  Lathrop     .     .  92 

Relief  of  Luck  now,  The Adapted 94 

Rescue,  The Benjamin  F.  Taylor     .     .  97 

Review  of  the  Grand  Army,  The    .     .     Adapted 98 

Rights  and  Duties Frederick  W.  Robertson     .  100 

Rub-a-dub  Agitation,  A George  William  Curtis      .  321 

Russia  the  Enigma  of  Europe    .     .     .  Gilbert  H.  Grosvenor    .     .  102 
Samuel   Adams    and   the   New    Eng- 
land Town  Meeting  ....  George  William  Curtis      .  331 

Savonarola William  M.  Punshon   .     .  104 

Scholar  in  Public  Life,  The  ....  Chauncey  M.  Depew     .     .  203 

Scholar's  Distrust,  The Wendell  Phillips       ...  297 


346  ALPHABETICAL    LIST    OF    CONTENTS. 


Shakespeare's  Mark  Antony  .  .  .  Walter  B.  Winchell  .  .  106 

Signal  Man,  The Charles  Dickens  .  .  .  .  109 

Signing  of  the  Declaration,  The  .  .  George  Lippard  .  .  .  .  1 1 1 

Sir  Walter  Scott  in  Westminster  .  .  John  Hay 114 

Slave  of  Boston,  The Theodore  Parker  .  .  .  115 

South  and  Her  Problems,  The  .  .  .  Henry  W.  Grady  .  .  .  230 

Southern  Negro,  The Henry  W.  Grady  .  .  .  225 

Spirit  of  Conquest,  The Thomas  Corwin  .  .  .  .  117 

Spirit  of  Puritanism,  The  ....  George  William  Curtis  .  327 

Storming  of  Mission  Ridge,  The  .  .  Benjamin  F.  Taylor  .  .  119 

Sun  of  Liberty,  The Victor  Hugo 124 

Sunday  Newspaper,  The Herrick  Johnson,  D.D.  .  122 

Suppressed  Repudiation Henry  Ward  Beecher  .  .  270 

Sydney  Carton's  Death Charles  Dickens  ....  126 

Toussaint  L'Ouverture's  Place  among 

Great  Men Wendell  Phillips  ....  303 

Traditions  of  Massachusetts,  The  .  Henry  Cabot  Lodge ••.  .  .  172 

Traitor's  Deathbed,  The George  Lippard  ....  128 

Tribute  to  Massachusetts,  A  ...  Henry  Cabot  Lodge  .  .  .  164 

Two  of  Dickens'  Villains  ....  Julien  M.  Elliott  .  ,  .  131 

Two  Queens Franklin  Addington  .  .  133 

Unconscious  Greatness  of  Stonewall 

Jackson,  The Moses  D.  Hoge,  D.D.  .  .  135 

University  the  Training  Camp  of  the 

Future,  The Henry  W.  Grady  .  .  .  223 

Unknown  Rider,  The George  Lippard  .  .  .  .  138 

Venezuela  Question,  The  ....  Henry.  Cabot  Lodge  .  .  .  170 

Vengeance  of  the  Flag,  The  .  .  .  Henry  D.  Esterbrooke  .  .  140 

Vesuvius  and  the  Egyptian  ....  Edward  Bt4hver  Lytton  .  143 

Victor  of  Marengo,  The Anonymous 146 

Voyage  of  the  "  Fram,"  The  .  .  .  Arthur  P.  Phint  .  .  .  .  148 

War  and  Peace Frederick  W.  Robertson  .  1 50 

Waterloo /.  T.  Headley 152 

Welcome  to  Louis  Kossuth  ....  William  H.  Seward .  .  .  290 

Wendell  Phillips Henry  Ward  Beecher  .  .  272 

What  We  Owe  the  Pilgrims  .  .  .  Wendell  Phillips .  .  .  .  317 

William  Lloyd  Garrison Wendell  Phillips .  .  .  .  313 

Wolfe  at  Quebec Frank  D.  Budlong  .  .  .  154 


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A  Method  of  English  Composition.  By  T.  WHITING  BANCROFT,  late 
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THE  FORMS  OF  DISCOURSE 

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By  WILLIAM   B.  CAIRNS,  A.M., 

Instructor  in  Rhetoric  in  the  University  of  Wisconsin. 

12mo.  Cloth.   356  pages,  For  introduction,  $1,15. 

THIS  text-book,  for  high  schools  and  colleges,  presents 
the  subject  of  Rhetoric  with  special  emphasis  on  Invention. 
The  author  believes  that  most  courses  in  elementary  rhetoric 
devote  too  little  time  to  this  part.  Style  is  briefly  but  com- 
pletely treated  in  an  introductory  chapter,  brevity  being 
gained  by  giving  only  enough  examples  to  make  plain  the 
author's  meaning.  A  student  needs  to  be  cautioned  regard- 
ing the  use  of  slang,  and  hints  as  to  the  relative  merits  of 
loose  and  periodic  sentences ;  but  he  also  needs  a  training 
that  will  help  him,  in  writing  on  a  given  subject  for  a  parti- 
cular occasion,  to  decide  what  to  say  and  how  to  say  it. 

Narration,  Description,  Exposition,  Argumentation,  and 
Persuasion  are  fully  discussed ;  and  carefully  chosen  ex- 
amples cf  each  are  given  for  analysis  and  special  study, 
thus  obviating  the  need  for  a  separate  book  of  selections. 

It  is  believed  that  teachers  who  prefer  to  illustrate 
errors  and  excellences  of  style  from  the  student's  own  com- 
position, rather  than  from  stock  examples,  will  find  in  this 
work  everything  necessary  for  a  high-school  or  elementary 
college  course  in  Rhetoric.  The  book  may,  however,  be  used, 
if  desired,  in  connection  with  one  of  the  many  excellent 
treatises  on  English  Composition  or  Elementary  Rhetoric, 


GINN  &  COMPANY,  PUBLISHERS, 

Boston.     New  York.    Chicago.    Atlanta. 


GREENOUGH'S 


NBW     VIRGIL 

EDITED    BY 

J.   B.   GREENOUGH,   Professor  of  Latin  in  Harvard  University, 

AND 

GEORGE    L.    KITTREDGE,    Professor  of  English  in  Harvard 
University,  formerly  Professor  of  Latin  in  the 

Pliillips  Exeter  Academy. 

AENEID,  Books  I. -VI.,  with  a  special  Vocabulary.     i2mo.     Half  morocco. 
Illustrated,     xlv+yog  pages.     For  introduction,  $1.50. 

AENEID,  Books   I. -VI.,  Bucolics,  with  a  special  Vocabulary.     Illustrated. 
xlv+Soy  pages.     For  introduction,  $1.60. 

THIS  new  edition  of  Virgil  contains  a  longer  Introduction,  dealing 
fully  with  his  life  and  times,  his  art,  his  literary  influence,  and  similar 
subjects.  A  special  aim  of  the  introduction  and  notes  is  to  introduce 
the  student  to  a  literary  study  of  Virgil  and  so  open  the  way  to  a  fruit- 
ful reading  of  the  classic  authors  generally.  The  learner  is  skilfully 
introduced  to  scansion.  Full  information  and  practical  directions  are 
given,  and,  in  particular,  English  prosody  is  made  the  gate  to  Latin 
prosody. 

The  notes  have  been  faithfully  revised.  The  grammatical  references 
have  been  made  to  fit  the  latest  editions  of  the  grammars. 

A  special  feature  of  the  notes  is  the  attempt  to  illustrate  by  quotations 
from  a  wide  range  of  English  poets.  Virgil,  thus  studied,  should  become 
a  most  valuable  aid  in  the  general  literary  culture  of  the  pupil. 

Close  and  discriminating  care  has  been  given  to  the  illustrations.  Fac- 
simile reproduction  has  been  largely  employed  in  this  edition  as  the  only 
satisfactory  process.  Fine  engravings  on  wood  have  been  presented 
where  the  subject  allowed,  and  the  pictures  as  a  whole  are  believed  to 
possess  remarkable  power  and  beauty  as  well  as  illustrative  value. 


E.  P.  Crowell,  Professor  of  Latin, 
A  mherst  College,  A  mherst,  Mass.  : 
Worthy  of  being  heartily  commended  to 
every  teacher  and  student  of  Virgil. 

W.  B.  Owen,  Professor  of  Latin, 
Lafayette  College,  Easton,  Pa.  :  In 
every  respect  it  is  the  best  Virgil  with 
which  I  am  acquainted. 

Charles  P.  Lynch,  Teacher  of  Latin, 
High  School,  Cleveland,  Ohio:  The 
book  is  one  of  rare  qualities,  not  only  as  a 
Latin  book,  but  as  an  English  text,  for  the 
side  lights  along  the  line  of  English  litera- 
ture are  especially  pleasing. 


Wm.  A.  Houghton,  Professor  of 
Latin,  Bowdoin  College,  Brunswick,  Me.: 
I  have  examined  it  with  care  and  am  pre- 
pared to  recommend  it  cordially. 

E.  C.  Benson,  Professor  of  Latin, 
Kenyan  College,  Gambier,  Ohio :  The 
book  is  worthy  of  all  commendation. 

D.  O.  S.  Lowell,  Instructor  in  Latin, 
Latin  School,  Roxbury,  Mass.  :  I  have 
long  tried  to  teach  the  great  poet  in  as 
literary  a  manner  as  possible,  and  this 
book  emphasizes  just  the  points  which 
have  been  too  long  neglected. 


GINN    &    COMPANY,  Publishers, 


Boston. 


New  York. 


Chicago. 


Atlanta. 


Dallas. 


LATIN    GRAMMAR 


ALLEN  AND 
GREENOUGH'S 

FOR  SCHOOLS  AND  COLLEGES. 

Founded  on  comparative  grammar.     Revised  and  Enlarged  by 

JAMES    B.  GREENOUGH, 

Assisted  by 
GEORGE    L.   KITTREDGE, 

Professors  in  Harvard  University. 


12010.     Half  leather.     488  pages.     For  introduction,  $1.20. 


THIS  is  offered  as  a  thoroughly  satisfactory  manual  for  preparatory 
schools  and  colleges,  and  it  is  believed  to  combine  excellences  of  di- 
verse kinds  in  such  a  way  as  to  be  the  closest  possible  approach  to  an 
ideal  grammar. 

First.  This  has  always  been  regarded  as  the  truest  and  soundest  of 
Latin  grammar  manuals.  Instead  of  making  arbitrary  laws  and  distinc- 
tions in  order  to  secure  an  artificial  clearness  of  statement,  this  gram- 
mar has  been  faithful  to  the  spirit  and  the  facts  of  the  language.  This 
is  its  fundamental  excellence.  The  grammar  explains  the  language 
instead  of  trying  to  make  the  language  bear  out  the  grammar. 

Second.  The  present  edition  is  as  strong  in  class-room  availability 
as  it  is  for  linguistic  truth.  George  L.  Kittredge,  Professor  of  English 
at  Harvard,  was  associate  reviser,  and  largely  on  account  of  his  com- 
bining special  qualifications  in  Latin  and  in  English,  the  style  of  the 
grammar  was  radically  improved.  It  is  believed  to  be  now  much  clearer, 
more  crisp  and  definite,  more  interesting  and  learnable,  than  any  other 
grammar. 

Third.  Even  in  all  the  little  points,  the  closest  care  was  taken  in  the 
revision,  and  scarcely  a  book  can  be  found  in  which  the  excellence  is 
so  uniform  and  in  which  the  finish  reaches  so  faithfully  to  the  minutest 
details. 

Fourth.  In  a  word,  the  consensus  of  competent  opinion  seems  to 
fully  justify  the  belief  that  Allen  and  Greenough's  Latin  Grammar  is 
clearly  the  best :  best  for  scholarship,  convenience,  completeness,  and 
beauty ;  best  for  reference  ;  and  best  for  regular  study. 


Tracy  Peck,  Professor  of  Latin  in 
Yale  University:  The  essential  facts  of 
the  language  are  stated  with  great  clear- 
ness, and  there  is  a  rich  suggestiveness  as 
to  the  rationale  of  constructions. 


William  A.  Packard,  Professor  of 
Latin  in  Princeton  University  :  I  find  it 
essentially  improved  by  the  revision  and 
the  additions  it  has  received,  and  regard  it 
as  an  unsurpassed  compendious  grammar 
for  use  in  our  schools  and  colleges. 


GINN  &  COMPANY,  Publishers, 


Boston. 


New  York.           Chicago.          Atlanta. 


Dallas. 


THE  FIRST  GREEK   BOOK 


JOHN  WILLIAMS  WHITE, 

Professor  of  Greek  in  Harvard  University. 


Sq.  X2mo.    Cloth.    292+62  pages.    Illustrated.    For  introduction,  $1.25. 


THE  lessons  in  this  book  have  been  graded  with  great  care.  Each 
new  lesson  is  built  upon  the  preceding  lessons.  The  author  has  aimed 
at  a  systematic  development  of  the  subject,  following  an  even  and 
regular  gradation  from  the  simpler  to  the  more  difficult  and  complex 
lessons.  Each  lesson  consists,  by  the  rule,  of  a  statement  of  gram- 
matical principles,  a  vocabulary,  exercises,  and  reading  lesson.  The 
principle  has  been  to  give  only  such  fundamental  facts  of  grammar  as 
the  student  must  know  before  he  can  begin  to  read  the  connected 
narrative  of  Xenophon  intelligently  and  with  pleasure. 

The  average  number  of  words  in  each  lesson  is  only  ten.  Only  those 
words  have  been  given  which  are  really  important.  By  the  rule  they 
are  words  that  occur  frequently  in  the  first  eight  chapters  of  the  Anab- 
asis, or  words  that  occur  eight  times  or  more  in  the  whole  of  the 
Anabasis.  All  the  information  about  the  word  that  the  pupil  needs  at 
this  stage  of  his  progress  is  given  in  the  special  vocabulary. 

A  set  of  brief  rules  of  syntax  with  illustrative  examples  is  given,  to 
which  references  are  made  in  the  body  of  the  book. 

Only  those  principles  of  syntax  are  developed  which  are  so  peculiar 
to  Greek  as  to  be  really  difficult.  In  the  body  of  the  book  no  stress  is 
laid  on  the  development  of  the  syntax  of  any  other  part  of  speech  than 
that  of  the  verb.  In  the  general  vocabularies  the  aim  is  to  give  full 
information.  Particular  attention  is  called  to  the  Greek-English 
vocabulary. 

The  book  is  very  fully  illustrated,  but  not  primarily  for  the  sake  of 
embellishment.  A  great  deal  of  study  was  devoted  to  this  part  of  the 
.work.  The  pictures  are  constantly  referred  to  in"  the  vocabularies. 
These  have  been  selected  from  the  best  sources. 


B.  L.  Cilley,  Teacher  of  Greek, 
Phillips  Exeter  Academy  :  I  like  it,  and 
if  I  start  with  the  beginners  next  fall  I 
shall  use  it. 

H.  C.  Havens,  Instructor  in  Greek, 
Preparatory  School,  Lawrenceville, 
N.  J. :  It  is  in  my  judgment  unsurpassed 
in  clearness  and  conciseness,  and  is 
admirably  arranged,  being  well  adapted 
for  use  in  classes  of  all  grades. 


Chas.  B.  Goold,  Professor  of  Greek, 
Albany  Academy,  Albany,  N.  Y. :  I  am 
delighted  with  the  First  Greek  Book  and 
shall  certainly  sound  its  praises  to  all 
teachers  of  Greek.  I  cannot  put  the  case 
too  strongly. 

R.  A.  Condit,  Professor  of  Ancient 
Languages,  Coe  College,  Cedar  Rapids, 
Iowa:  I  have  used  many  preparatory 
Greek  books,  but  this  excels  them  all. 


GINN    &    COMPANY,  Publishers, 

Boston.  New  York.  Chicago.  Atlanta.  Dallas. 


TEXT-BOOKS  ON  PHYSICS 

BY  ALFRED    P.  GAGE, 

Instructor  in  Physics  in  the  English  High  School,  Boston. 

Principles  of  Physics.  A  text-book  for  high  schools  and  colleges. 
I2mo.  Half  leather.  634  pages.  Fully  illustrated.  For  intro- 
duction, $1.30. 

Introduction  to  Physical  Science.  Revised  Edition.  i2mo. 
Cloth.  374  pages.  Illustrated.  With  a  color  chart  of  spectra, 
etc.  For  introduction,  $1.00. 

Elements  of  Physics.  A  text-book  for  high  schools  and  academies. 
I2mo.  Half  leather.  424  pages.  Illustrated.  For  introduction, 
$1.12. 

Physical  Laboratory  Manual  and  Note  Book.  i2mo.  Boards. 
244  pages.  Illustrated.  For  introduction,  35  cents. 

Physical  Experiments.  A  manual  and  note  book.  I2mo.  Boards. 
97  pages.  Illustrated.  For  introduction,  35  cents. 


THE  Principles  of  Physics  aims  to  supply  the  demand  for  an 
accurate,  interesting,  usable  text-book  of  present-day  physics, 
suitable  for  high  schools  and  elementary  courses  in  college. 

The  size  and  general  features  of  the  Introduction  to  Physical 
Science  in  its  present  revised  form  have  been  changed  little, 
but  numerous  slight  changes  have  been  made  throughout 
the  work  which  will  be  found  improvements  and  which  will 
make  it  more  acceptable  to  those  using  it. 

The  leading  feature  of  the  Elements  of  Physics  is  that  it  is 
strictly  experiment-teaching  in  its  method.  The  experiments 
given  are  rather  of  the  nature  of  questions  than  of  illustra- 
tions, and  precede  the  statements  of  principles  and  laws. 

Physical  Experiments  contains  the  laboratory  exercises 
required  for  admission  to  Harvard  University  and  to  many 
other  colleges.  Specific  directions  are  given  for  the  prepa- 
ration of  notes,  thereby  securing  uniformity  which  greatly 
reduces  the  labor  of  the  examiner. 


GINN   &   COMPANY,  Publishers, 

Boston.          New  York.  ^^.Chicago.          Atlanta.          Dallas. 


GENERAL  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA—BERKELEY 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or  on  the 

date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


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